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  Sarina appeared, her sweet face lined with worry. Alanna reached out, gripping her cousin’s hand, feeling the zing of shared magic as Sarina infused her with light.

  Yet while Alanna regained strength, Bart’s ebbed from him. Not in a slow leak, but as though an immense boulder had fallen from the sky and crushed him.

  Geoffrey and Darrick, with panicked glances around them, looked for the source, a flesh-and-blood enemy whom they might battle. Darrick drew his sword, slashing at the air around them.

  Bart screamed.

  As Alanna raised herself up on her elbows, meaning to crawl towards him and lend him some of her Sarina-granted strength, his chest caved in. His face contorted as his scream turned into a dying gurgle. Blood sprayed from a hole in his rib cage, where his heart was – or had been.

  He screamed again before he died.

  Horror-stricken, the rest of the men milled about in a panic, whirling this way and that, swords drawn against an enemy they couldn’t even fight. The stark terror on their faces left no doubt as to their thoughts – each wondered if he would be next.

  On the ground, Bart’s blood mingled with the ashy earth.

  Sorrow filled Alanna, even as she braced myself for another attack. Though she would move heaven and earth to regain Caradoc, she would not wish such a fate on another being, especially a mortal warrior such as Bart had been.

  “He’s dead.” His gaze full of accusation, Geoffrey cursed.

  Alanna’s facilities returned in bits and pieces. She heard the other men muttering, their horse’s restless hooves stamping the earth.

  Finally, she was able to sit. A fresh wave of dizziness hit her, then passed. Cautiously, she glanced around. No sense of the evil force remained.

  “You!” Eyes burning, still cradling his fallen comrade in his arms, Geoffrey pointed a trembling finger at her. “You caused this.”

  Slowly, she shook her head. Legs shaky, she managed to stand. Her gaze found Darrick, who watched from behind hooded eyes. Whether he too shared Geoffrey’s unfair assessment, she did not know. Should not care.

  “He was a warrior,” Geoffrey continued, his voice breaking from the force of his emotion. “I have known Bart since we were both children. All his life he has dreamed of dying with valor and glory. Yet he did not. His death came not on the battlefield, but in the foolhardy assistance of a treacherous witch.”

  The hateful word hung in the air. One man hissed. Another made a nervous cough.

  “I am no witch.” Holding her head high, Alanna stared Geoffrey down. Now that his hostility was out in the open, mayhap she would find it easier to deal with. Truth was always better than stealth and lies.

  “I did not do this thing, Rather I too struggled against it. Great evil walks abroad in the land,” she said, caring not if none believed her. “I felt the strength of its will and dark might.”

  All assembled fell silent. After what had happened to Bart, so inexplicable and horrible, none dared contradict her. But she saw the mistrust in their eyes. Their suspicion both saddened and hardened her resolve. Why she should care for their opinions, she could not say. They were mortals and, once she had accomplished her goal, she would never see them again. All she wanted was the safe return of her son.

  Darrick’s voice rang out, strong and sure. “Alanna speaks true. She is not a witch. Long have I known this woman, and she cannot tell a falsehood.”

  Grateful for his support, Alanna avoided looking at him. His deep voice had always carried the power to stir her, and she could afford little distraction now that she knew how high were the stakes.

  “Thank you.” She let her gaze linger on each of his men in turn before finally returning to Darrick. “And though I sorrow greatly that Bart has suffered, we must bury him and press on. The danger to my son and your mother is far greater than even I realized.”

  Though Geoffrey mouthed the word heartless and shot darts of resentment at her with a burning look, to her relief Darrick nodded.

  “We will not tarry here, in such cursed surroundings.” He gave the necessary orders to bury his man. “We will ride west, towards Grasmere. Morfran’s brother has a keep there.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Though none seemed to realize, Darrick maintained his self-control only with a tenuous grip. Losing Bart, who had long been a loyal man, was the final straw. It nearly undid him. He wanted to fall to his knees and howl his rage at the sky.

  One look from Alanna, with her clear, unbeaten gaze, had saved him. He’d been able to gather the tattered shreds of his once legendary self-control and go on. Because of the pure faith he saw in her eyes. She truly believed he’d save his mother and rescue her son. She looked at him and saw the Darrick he’d once been, not the bitter, broken man he’d now become.

  Damn it to hell, he hated to disappoint her. Yet he could not entirely vanquish the churning emotions that battled within him and tore him asunder.

  Since Alanna had reappeared in his life, rage had become his constant companion. It seethed always just beneath his skin, threatening to erupt at a moment’s notice.

  Before, he’d accepted his dogged ill luck as merely whimsical caprices of the legendary fates. Now he knew the truth. Someone else was responsible. His own uncle. Family.

  But worse than this knowledge was the simmering suspicion that, had he known these things, he would have been able to change the past. Protect Alanna or, failing that, help her and enact a quick revenge. Darrick had little doubt he would have dispatched Morfran easily then, for the man had not yet had time to grow so powerful.

  But she’d been raped and he hadn’t even known. She’d been traumatized, and he hadn’t been able to comfort her. If he’d known the reason for her disappearance, he’d have gone after her, helped her heal, and brought her back as his wife. He’d never have left Thorncliff unattended to fight in the war that wasn’t.

  If he’d known the truth, his future would not now seem so bleak.

  So many things, each tumbling after the other, as a direct consequence of one action. His brother would still be alive, and he and Alanna would most likely have a passel of children by now. They’d be happily raising them at Thorncliff.

  So much had gone wrong. Because of Morfran. So much ruin and destruction and hate.

  Fury colored his every breath. For the first time he understood the legendary stories of the berserkers, those men who lost themselves in the heat of battle, becoming savage, killing beasts.

  Such a man could he easily become.

  Setting his jaw, Darrick flexed his aching fists, aware that he’d been clenching them. Morfran. His uncle had taken from him every single thing that was good and right and worth living for. Still he continued to do so, with the capture and torture of Darrick’s lady mother, and the death of Bart.

  His mother. The Lady Rowena. It had been years since Darrick had seen his own mother. He thought back, to the haze of that summer when his world had begun to fall apart. Full of optimism about his upcoming nuptials, Alanna’s disappearance had stunned and infuriated him. Rowena had been there, comforting him without disparaging Alanna, whom she’d loved like a daughter, and offering her counsel and support. No one had any idea why his betrothed left him standing at the altar, though even his mother had mentioned that the Fae did not lightly forsake their vows.

  Now to learn Morfran, his own uncle, had raped his intended… Darrick took a deep breath. And another. He thought of the messenger’s words, wondering how a man could become so depraved as to torture and rape his own sister.

  More than anything, once his mother had been safely rescued, Darrick wanted to wring his uncle’s neck with his bare hands.

  Of course Morfran wanted to kill him first.

  Darrick had no doubt that somehow Morfran was behind this latest attack. True, his uncle was not Fae and thus had no command of magic. But this Gorsedd, the one Alanna claimed had stolen her son, was and did. Allied with a man so evil, Gorsedd could be nothing but.

  The invisible at
tack worried Darrick. With his sword he could fight flesh-and-blood enemies, be they man or Fae. But the territory of magical spells and dark magic was far beyond his reach, out of his realm of experience.

  How could he fight an enemy he could not even see?

  He thought of his mother, chained and abused. He thought of Alanna’s son, gut twisting as he pictured the horrors a man such as Morfran might inflict upon a helpless, small child.

  The man had to be stopped. As soon as humanely possible.

  Geoffrey came up beside him. Glad of the distraction from his ever-darkening thoughts, Darrick lifted a brow.

  The other man’s normally serene face looked grim.

  “What was that? That thing that killed Bart?”

  “I wish I knew.” Darrick clasped Geoffrey’s shoulder. “Magic. Alanna thinks it is one called Gorsedd, who is Morfran’s advisor.”

  Frown deepening, Geoffrey tugged at his ear. “He is schooled in the black arts?”

  “Witchcraft?” Well Darrick knew the rigidness of Geoffrey’s thinking. Religious fervor had served him well during the holy war. Now, in another kind of war, Geoffrey deserved and needed to know the truth.

  “Not witchcraft. Faerie magic.”

  Geoffrey’s mouth curved downward. “What nonsense is this? `Tis common knowledge that there are no such things as Faeries.”

  Darrick flashed a savage smile. “Once I would have made the same comment about invisible assassins.”

  Geoffrey rocked back on his heels. “`Twas witchcraft,” he hissed.

  “So you give one credibility over the other?”

  The other man fingered his cross. “I make no distinction between either. But I want to know what killed Bart.”

  “Alanna says a black spell.”

  “Alanna says,” the other man mocked. “Though she but confirms my thinking – a black spell is the same as vile witchcraft, methinks the wench has ensorcelled you.”

  A sharp stab of sadness came and went. “Once, I would have said that was true,” Darrick murmured. “But that was years ago. I care for her no longer.”

  He could tell from the stubborn set of Geoffrey’s chin that he didn’t believe this. Hell, Darrick wasn’t even certain he himself believed his own words.

  Had he become a liar too, in addition to his many other failings?

  Geoffrey continued to watch him closely. “If she has not cast a spell on you, why do you allow her to travel with us?”

  Cocking his head, Darrick studied his old friend in return. “Why do you so dislike her? What happened between the two of you?”

  “That you should ask such a thing.” Drawing himself up stiffly, Geoffrey’s voice vibrated with the force of his emotion. “I saw what you became, because of her.”

  “She had reason. Morfran raped her. None of what happened was her fault.”

  “Blameless?” Geoffrey gave a short bark of humorless laughter. “`Twas her choice to disappear.”

  “Aye. I would give much to change the past.”

  There. He’d said it. Let Geoffrey make of it what he would, but `twas only the truth.

  With a sigh, Geoffrey conceded the point. “I think we all would change some part of our pasts, were we able. But why let her travel with us now?”

  “I have promised her my aid in regaining her son.”

  “For what reason?”

  Darrick let his expression harden. Were he to tell Geoffrey of Alanna’s assistance in freeing Thorncliff, the other man would name her witch for certain. “Is it not enough that I have given my word? `Tis not your place to question your Lord.”

  Geoffrey dipped his head. But not before Darrick saw the flash of bitterness in his old friend’s eyes.

  “You are correct. Forgive me.”

  Regret stabbed him. “Done.” Darrick summoned a smile. “You have fought by my side a long time. Do not let such a small thing as this tiny woman divide us.”

  Slowly, Geoffrey raised his head. “Small? Alanna? I think not. I worry greatly for your mortal soul.”

  Darrick chuckled. “Don’t. You are neither priest nor monk. Be a warrior, as before, as always. This road we follow may prove long and dangerous.”

  “I am still your friend. I cannot help but question some of your actions.” Geoffrey glanced at Alanna as he spoke. Watching him, Darrick followed suit. Together with Sarina, she stood near the grave his men were digging, conferring with bent heads and lowered voices. Despite her recent ordeal, she still looked fresh and lovely enough to make his chest tighten.

  Not good. With an effort, Darrick dragged his gaze back to Geoffrey and his frowns.

  “See?”

  Darrick didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t know what Geoffrey meant. “She is a beautiful woman, and we have been a long time without female companionship.” He shrugged, casting another sidelong look at the two women. “For that matter, I have noticed the way you watch Sarina. There is a soothing balm to be found in such loveliness.”

  “Bah,” Geoffrey spat, though his complexion went ruddy. “`Tis not appreciation, but lust. A sin of the flesh and one that I now strive daily to withstand.”

  Pity for his companion suffused him. “`Tis not to late to study for the priesthood, my friend.”

  “And I may.” Anger burned in Geoffrey’s eyes. “When this is over, if I live through it. Would that I had years ago, instead of learning how to fight.”

  “We cannot change the past.” Darrick repeated. This was counsel he’d do well to heed before bitterness over the events Morfran’s perfidy had set in motion consumed him.

  The men finished digging the grave. One gave a shout, and Darrick turned and went to him, not waiting to see if Geoffrey followed.

  All fell silent as they lowered Bart into the ground.

  Even Sarina bent her head when Geoffrey spoke a short prayer.

  As soon as the final shovel of dirt had been thrown over the grave, Alanna walked over to stand beside Darrick.

  Her eyes were haunted. “I fear for my son.”

  He could not keep from touching her. A small touch, light on her slender shoulder. He let his hand linger a moment, ignoring the way her posture stiffened. “We will ride out shortly.”

  “How far is this other place?”

  “A day’s ride. No more. We would make it by nightfall if we rode straight through. But we must rest. We have fought an arduous battle, then ridden through the night. We will ride another hour or so, then make camp. We must rest or we will become easy prey for our enemies.”

  He saw she wanted to argue. But a quick look at his exhausted men and their weary mounts proved him right.

  Under his hand she trembled. “So help me, if he has harmed one hair on my son’s – or your mother’s - head…”

  “Caradoc will be fine.” The name still tasted like ashes on his tongue. Darrick cleared his throat and tried again. “Especially if this Gorsedd believes the boy can bring him power. I fear for my lady mother.”

  Geoffrey came to stand with them. A moment later, Sarina moved to Geoffrey’s side. Darrick noticed how his friend tensed, yet seemed unable to resists casting glances at the diminutive, dark-haired woman.

  “Are you ready to ride?” Darrick kept his voice low out of deference to his fallen man. Geoffrey’s nostrils flared but he inclined his head in a nod.

  Turning, Alanna went to her palfrey and mounted with a grace Darrick wouldn’t have thought possible in such flowing skirts. A moment later Sarina did the same. Geoffrey stared then, noticing Darrick watching him, colored.

  Without another word, Darrick strode to where his war horse waited patiently. He swung himself into the saddle and waited until the rest of his men did the same.

  “Let’s go.”

  In a clatter of hooves they rode out, leaving the cursed keep and its dark secrets behind them.

  They made camp with the sunrise. Darrick posted guards, to change every hour, and he himself took first watch. Tents were pitched under the wintry morning sky, and most di
sappeared inside them to get some sleep.

  To Darrick’s surprise, Alanna did not. Instead she chose to keep watch with him.

  The dim light of the winter morning exposed the shadows under her worried eyes.

  “How far to the next village?” She cast a sidelong look at him.

  Not bothering to hide his frank stare, Darrick shrugged. “I’m not sure. I was planning to skirt the villages. Why?”

  “I want to talk to the villagers. See if anyone has word of my son, or your mother.”

  He appreciated her inclusion of Rowena. Especially since he knew the depths of her anxiety over her son.

  “`Tis not a bad idea. He turned to look at the tents. “Mayhap you should consider trying to rest, so that you will be better able to concentrate on their answers.”

  After a moment’s silence, she flashed a wan, weary smile. “I will rest when you do.”

  “We have one more hour. Then one of my men will replace me.”

  “Geoffrey?” Though she tried to hide her distaste, she was not entirely successful. Even after so many years apart, Darrick still knew her nearly as well as he knew himself.

  “Perhaps.” He perused her features, one by one. “You look exhausted.”

  “As do you.”

  This, he ignored. For so long had he functioned on little sleep and food that he’d become inured to hardship.

  With a sound of frustration, she dragged her fingers through her long hair, making him ache with longing. “Why do you watch me so oddly?”

  “Memories.” He gave her truth, not caring enough about the subtleties of diplomacy to try and lie. “We have much between us, you and I.”

  “Had,” she said. “We had much between us, Darrick Tadhg. All we share now is a quest for the same man.”

  Her gentle reminder shouldn’t have brought pain, but to his dismay, it did.

  His next words he knew he’d regret later. “There is still the unbroken binding of the troth we pledged.”

  She did not immediately answer. The only sound was that of the breeze as it ruffled the tents. Averting her face, Alanna hunched her shoulders, as though his simple words of truth brought her immeasurable torment.