Marshall, damn his calm, waved off Darton’s worries with his bony fingers. “Hagan will die. By the end of the day.” With a knowing glance at Sir Ralston, he added, “Brady and Elwin are still in the forest tracking him. ’Twill not be long before we have news of his death.”
“You’d best be right, Marshall, or we’ll have anarchy on our hands.” In vexation Darton kicked a bench away from the table and paced restlessly before the fire. He couldn’t hope to become baron without news of Hagan’s death, for there were far too many people in the castle who were perversely loyal to his brother.
“Did we not detain his troops?” Marshall asked in that silky voice of his.
“So you say.”
“They are shackled in the old mill, along with their horses, waiting for word from you. A few are dying already from their wounds, and the others are bound. Would you like them killed? Or do you hope to turn them into your own soldiers?”
Darton was in no mood to discuss anything so trivial. With Hagan loose, nothing else mattered. He rubbed the knotted muscles at the base of his skull. “ ’Twill be difficult to turn them away from Hagan. His damn knights are stupidly loyal to him. Since they’ve seen your faces, they must realize that I am behind the attack against my brother and will resist accepting me as their liege.” He plowed two sets of fingers through his hair. “We need other ways to convince them to join us.”
“A bribe, if it’s large enough, might work on a few of them,” Marshall said thoughtfully as he stroked his beard. “And for those who can’t be bought outright, we might be able to find secrets that they’d rather keep to themselves and offer to maintain our quiet only if they meet our demands and turn against Hagan.”
“You know of such secrets?” Darton was impressed. Maybe he’d underestimated his second-in-command.
“A few,” Marshall said, his cold smile causing a chill to drip into Darton’s blood. Marshall wasn’t loyal. He was only interested in his own greedy ambitions, and Darton knew that someday he would have to get rid of the knight, else-wise Marshall would be plotting Darton’s death. As soon as the rebellion was successful, he would find a way dispose of the cur.
“There’s always torture,” Ralston said. His faded blue eyes gleamed deep in their sockets. Ralston’s cruel streak was well known throughout the castle. More than once Darton had been forced to reprimand him for his mistreatment of a horse or hound or whore. Darton, too, enjoyed his sex rough, but even he had limits. Ralston had none. “A few lashes of the whip can convince a man that he needs to think in a new way,” Ralston suggested. “Or take away ’is food and water for a while. Turns a strong man into a simpering, crying puppy who would run after you on all fours and lick yer arse to boot.” He laughed and eyed Darton’s empty cup greedily.
Darton wasn’t swayed. “Keep Hagan’s men locked up for now. Until we hear of his death. Then we can decide.” Darton sat back in his chair, frowned into his empty cup, and clapped for a serving wench just as a soldier, his boots ringing against the stones, joined them. A plain girl scurried in with more wine, filling Darton’s cup before hurrying away.
“There is news?” Darton asked the sentry. He tried to keep his willful heart from leaping in anticipation. Surely this was it—the word that Hagan was finally dead.
“An army approaching,” the stone-faced guard said without a trace of emotion.
“An army?” Darton repeated, sliding a suspicious glance at Marshall. This was a complication he hadn’t expected. “Whose?”
“The colors are those of Prydd.”
Darton’s heart sank. Was it possible that Sorcha had returned to her home and found a way to convince her brother to mount an army against Erbyn? But the timing wasn’t quite right. It was nearly a day’s ride to Prydd from here, and Tadd would need time to equip and ready an army. Again Darton was on his feet. He bit his lip as he strode with a gait that pained him, and his thoughts whirled ahead of him. He was at a disadvantage, not knowing what to expect. He hated for anyone, friend or foe, to have the upper hand. “Is the lady with them?” he asked, though he knew it to be a stupid question. Even if Sorcha demanded to return to Erbyn, Tadd would have forbade a woman on the journey. Any woman, including his powerful sister.
“I know not.”
“Allow in only the leader … and one of his soldiers, I suppose. Swear that he will have safe passage.”
“Aye.” The soldier turned on his heel and clipped out of the room. Darton fingered the knife at his belt as his gaze met Ralston’s. “If Tadd of Prydd gives me any trouble, you are to kill him at my signal,” he said.
“What signal?”
“I’ll call for more wine and ask for the jug to be left at the table rather than having it returned to the kitchen. You then draw him into battle with an insult or two and slay him.”
“What of his guard?”
“I’ll handle him,” Marshall said.
“Good.” Darton was pleased with Marshall’s act of allegiance. Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill the pensive knight after all. “I’ll see that only my men are around, and they will swear that Tadd struck first.”
Ralston’s smile stretched beneath his red beard. “Just give me the signal and I’ll run ’im through.”
“From the front. The wound must be in his chest, for it must appear a fair fight.”
“ ’Twill, my liege,” Ralston assured him as Darton made ready to receive Sorcha’s brother. “Have trust in me.”
Astride a tall stallion, Tadd led his party around a final bend in the forest road. The gloomy trees gave way to a trampled meadow, a deep chasm, and the sharp cliffs supporting Erbyn. Tadd’s guts twisted at the sight of the huge keep. In comparison, Prydd seemed small and of no consequence, but this … this was truly a castle. Thrice the size of those at Prydd, the battlements and towers crawled along the steep cliffs, rising above the ground with thick, impenetrable walls and a drawbridge wide enough for four carts abreast. Banners in the forest-green and gold colors of Erbyn snapped in the breeze from poles mounted on the highest towers. Envy coursed through Tadd, and he suddenly wondered why he’d been satisfied to be baron of Prydd—a tiny fiefdom with a small keep. The missive from Hagan of Erbyn told him that both his sisters were within the strong fortress that was Erbyn, and Tadd suspected he could command much for their imprisonment, for though Hagan said the women were his guests, Tadd would choose to call them prisoners and insist that he be paid much for his worry.
That thought pleased him, and he grinned inwardly.
As Tadd’s party approached the main gate, a horn sounded and guards appeared at every post. Archers stood at ready as if expecting an enemy. Aye, this was a fine castle … a castle fit for a king …