Betrayal Read online

  Kurk blinked at him. “We can’t up and leave, my boy,” he said.

  “The Dunkeldi and Taurini are surrounding the city,” Redmond said. “You’ll be trapped.”

  Chapter 4

  The wind haunted the hollow, swirling about the tiny group as they bent over the pile of stones. Despite their protestations, Finola and Brigid wouldn’t let Brion go alone. The full moon peeked through the leafy canopy, casting a dappled light on the grave.

  “This is it,” Brion said as he straightened.

  “It’s creepy,” Finola said. “What do you think you’re going to find?” She kicked at one of the stones with her boot.

  Brion glanced at her. Her linen shirt rippled in the breeze. She was always so beautiful, even dressed in the pants and shirt of a Salassani slave girl.

  “Answers,” Brion said.

  Brion glanced at Brigid, who stood tight-lipped with her arms folded. Her hair blew across her eyes, and she brushed it away. She had her loose-fitting shirt tied at her waist with a belt and her trousers tucked into her boots like Finola. Brigid wasn’t pleased with this idea.

  She had been moody ever since the old woman had told them that Brigid’s real older brother had died as an infant. Brion didn’t want to believe that his whole life had been lie, that he was the son of the Duke of Saylen, anymore than Brigid did. Weyland and Rosland had raised him, and he had loved them. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what the Duke was like.

  Brion contemplated the pile of stones. He was determined to search the grave where the old woman said Weyland’s real son lay buried. He wouldn’t believe her until he saw the body with his own eyes. But it was a grave.

  Brion tossed the stones aside before he lifted the spade and plunged it into the earth. The wind picked up the fragrance of age and decay and flung it around them until the entire hollow seemed to fill with sadness. Trees moaned and creaked. A cloud passed over the moon.

  “Would you hurry up?” Finola said. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder as another tree groaned. “I don’t see why we had to do this in the dark.”

  “I didn’t want to be followed,” Brion said. “The last time I was here, someone tried to kill me.”

  Brion drove the spade into the earth again. Finola jumped as a thud echoed in the hollow. The grave wasn’t deep. Hadn’t they been worried about wolves and coyotes digging up the body?

  Brion bent to scoop away the rest of the dirt that covered a slab of wood. He worked around the edges until he could grasp them. He gave a tug and the nails ripped through the rotted wood. Brion glanced up at Brigid who had bent close. The three of them stooped low, peering into the black hole.

  Something ghostly-white lay in the bottom of the box.

  “Oh no,” Finola said.

  Brion tore away the rest of the lid. They stared at the little form enfolded in a white shawl.

  “I don’t think you should touch it,” Finola said.

  Brion hesitated. Did he have the right to desecrate this tiny child’s grave?

  “Move over,” Brigid said. She knelt beside the grave and tenderly lifted the bundle.

  “Something isn’t right,” she said.

  They gathered around Brigid as she lifted the edge of the shawl. They stared in dumb silence.

  “I don’t understand,” Brion said. He had expected to see the hollow eyes of a baby skeleton staring up at him. Not an empty shawl. Where was the skeleton?

  Brigid peeled away the rest of the shawl, searching for something. Under the first fold, something dark and shriveled was caught up by the wind. Brion caught it. He held it up to examine it.

  “It looks like a dried flower,” he said.

  Finola snatched it from him. “I think it’s a tulip,” she said.

  They all exchanged curious glances, and Brion reached to peel back another fold of linen. He uncovered a little book. Brigid slid the book from the linen. She turned it around and lifted the cover. The pages fluttered and snapped. Brigid caught the first page and pulled the book close. A ray of moonlight lit the words.

  “I’m so afraid,” she read. Brigid gazed around at them with wide eyes.

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  Finola lifted the book from Brigid’s hands and thumbed through the pages.

  “It’s Rosland’s diary,” she said.

  Chapter 5

  The rumor of war spread like wildfire when it caught in the dry grasses of the Oban Plain. Couriers pounded up and down the roads at all times of day and night. Long lines of wagons and people on foot filed south passing through Wexford or off to the east to larger cities, such as Mailag and Brechin. The south road became a veritable highway as people scrambled to get out of the way of the clashing armies.

  No one could say they had seen a single Dunkeldi warrior, but that didn’t seem to matter. Even with all the traffic, no one had heard any word from Dunfermine. It was as if the Dunkeldi had enclosed the entire city in a tight noose. Nothing and no one went in or came out.

  “I can’t stand not knowing,” Finola said as another company of wagons trundled down the south road. “What if Redmond and Emyr didn’t make it to Dunfermine?”

  Finola, Brigid, and Brion had learned on their return from the heathland several days ago that Finola’s parents, Paiden and Shavon, had been driven out of town by those who had blamed Brion and Neahl for starting a war with the Dunkeldi.

  “I don’t understand why we haven’t had news of a Dunkeldi attack,” Brion said.

  Finola faced Brion. “Let’s practice now,” she said. “I need to focus on something else.”

  They had kept with their routine of keeping watch at night, caring for their gear, and practicing fighting. Given the uncertainty of their situation, it seemed like the only reasonable thing to do. But waiting for Neahl to return from his trip to Chullish was wearing on their nerves. It was the inaction that picked at Brion. It was like having an itch he couldn’t scratch.

  “I won’t be carried away like a sack of potatoes again, Brion,” Finola said. “Not for any man.”

  Brion grinned. “You would make a cute sack of potatoes,” he said.

  Finola slapped his arm and pulled the wooden practice knife from her belt. “Don’t play with me.” She held up the wooden knife.

  Brion raised his hands.

  “All right. Why don’t you and Brigid go over what we covered yesterday?”

  The two girls circled and began their drills. Brion watched absentmindedly. They had both become very good with knives, and Brion had them practice the drills that Neahl and Redmond had taught him.

  But his mind was still preoccupied. He gazed out over the fields, enjoying the cool breeze that cast up the scents of the earth and the forest. He knew that their time at the cabin couldn’t last. War was coming, and Wexford was exposed. It was too near the heathland. He was anxious for Finola’s parents and worried that Redmond and Emyr hadn’t made it to Dunfermine or that they had made it and had been trapped inside. And what was taking Neahl so long to return from Chullish?

  “Don’t move,” Finola said.

  Brion glanced back to the girls again to find Finola holding Brigid tight with the wooden knife to her throat.

  “You’re a natural,” Brion said.

  Finola wiped the sweat from her eyes and wiggled her eyebrows at him. “I guess it pays to be ornery,” she said.

  Before Finola finished speaking, the sound of pounding hooves broke from the trees behind the cabin. Brion scrambled for his bow as the girls did the same. He ran around the smokehouse to peer over the back pasture, now thick with weeds. A blonde head bent low over the back of a galloping horse.

  “Seamus?” Brion said.

  “He looks like he’s got a burr under his saddle,” Finola said.

  “This can’t be good,” Brigid said.

  Brion waited until Seamus yanked the horse to a stop and leapt to the ground.

  “He’s coming,” Seamus panted.

  “Who?”

&n
bsp; “The Sheriff, and he has men with him.”

  Brion exchanged glances with Finola and Brigid.

  “I think you should go,” Seamus said.

  “Why?” Brion asked.

  “They’re accusing you of murdering the old midwife,” Seamus said. “The headman has been in a fury ever since you returned, but he’s too much of a coward to do anything himself. I think they’re coming to arrest you.”

  “We didn’t kill her,” Brion snapped. The anger and frustration he had been suppressing for weeks began to rise to the surface.

  “I don’t think anyone is going to care much whether you did it,” Seamus said. “They’re out for blood.”

  Brion cursed. “Are we packed?”

  “We’re always packed,” Finola said.

  “Thanks, Seamus,” Brion said. Once again, his friend had been there for him, and once again, he was going to leave him behind.

  “You had better hurry,” Seamus said.

  Brion and Seamus saddled the horses while Brigid and Finola brought their gear out of the cabin.

  “Where are you going to go?” Seamus asked.

  Brion shrugged. “Into the woods, I guess. Tell Neahl when he comes that we went to the place where Weyland killed the wildcat a few years ago. He’ll know what I mean.”

  “Brion!” Brigid called.

  Brion ducked under Misty’s neck to see Brigid and Finola facing the road. A line of horsemen appeared on the crest of the hill.

  “Let’s go,” Brion said. “Hurry.”

  Brigid and Finola ran to their horses and climbed into the saddles.

  “Goodbye,” Brion said to Seamus. “And thanks.”

  Seamus nodded to him.

  Brion kicked Misty into a gallop at the same moment that Brigid cried out.

  “Neahl,” she yelled.

  Brion reined Misty around to find Neahl leading five horsemen down the hill. Sheriff Cluny rode at Neahl’s side. Two more rode behind them, and a short, round man, slouching in his saddle, dawdled at the rear.

  Brigid kicked her horse toward them.

  “Wait,” Brion called after her.

  But Brigid had already reached Neahl’s side. He pulled her from the saddle into a hug before letting her down and dismounting himself. Neahl favored his right leg as he dismounted. The arrow wound in his hip that he had received while shielding Finola as they had escaped the Salassani encampment at the Great Keldi had almost killed him. He survived because of Redmond’s care and his own stubbornness.

  Brion chuckled and shook his head. It was good to see Neahl again. Somehow the big, burly man with the grizzled hair exuded confidence. He made Brion feel safe. Brion and Finola slipped from their saddles as Neahl gestured toward them.

  “Lord Sheriff,” Neahl said, “you already know Brion.”

  Cluny inclined his head in Brion’s direction and dismounted. His long sword swung awkwardly, and his polished, mail shirt caught the morning light. His gray, speckled beard did not hide the long, lean face.

  “This is Brigid, Weyland’s daughter,” Neahl continued, “and Finola.”

  The two young women stood awkwardly, uncertain how to greet a lord sheriff. Maybe it was that neither of them wore dresses now that they had discovered the freedom that breeches gave them. Or maybe it was because they were covered in dirt and sweat from their knife fighting practice.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Cluny said. He faced Brigid. “I was sorry to hear about your parents, and I’m happy that you both made it home safely.” Brion noted that Cluny’s eyes shifted and his gaze slid over them without pausing long enough to meet their eyes.

  Then Cluny gestured toward the men behind him. Two of them had dismounted. One wore rich clothing and expensive weapons. The other two were more shabby and travel-worn. The wealthy young man kept his gaze on the girls while the other two men watched Brion.

  “Let me introduce young master Hayden,” Cluny said. “His father was sword master to the King.”

  Hayden bowed slightly with a glance at Brion before focusing his attention back to the young women. He had sandy-brown hair and a sharp, angular face. Brion guessed that women might find him attractive. Hayden was taller than Brion by several inches, but Brion noted that most of his height was in his legs. He let himself consider for a moment how best to defeat a man of this build.

  “And this,” Cluny said, stabbing a hand toward the stocky, dark-haired man standing beside Neahl, “is Jaxon.”

  Brion’s gaze paused on Jaxon for a moment because where his right eye should have been was a shriveled, blackened socket. A shock of jet-black hair dangled partway in front of the empty socket. Jaxon’s good eye studied Brion, and his expression was one of detached interest. An involuntary shiver swept over Brion. Jaxon was probably the creepiest person he had ever seen.

  “And the one who can’t seem to find his way down from his horse,” Cluny continued, casting an annoyed glance at the balding man who lounged in the saddle, “is Tyg.”

  Tyg inclined his head, but made no move to dismount. His hands rested on the pommel. His hair was uncombed and disheveled. His eyelids sagged, and he seemed disinterested in the entire conversation. At his ample waist, several sheaths held a variety of knives and one short sword. Brion decided that Tyg was the most dangerous man of the three because it would be easy to underestimate him.

  After the introductions, Neahl gestured to the cabin, and Brion invited them in. He glanced at Seamus where he still stood by the smokehouse with his horse’s reins in his hand. Brion nodded for Seamus to follow, but Seamus shook his head. Brion wondered if Seamus was just being shy, but he left Seamus to himself and followed the others inside the cabin. The men gathered around the small table, while Brigid and Finola huddled in a far corner, trying not to be noticed.

  Without any ceremony, Neahl handed Brion a folded piece of parchment sealed with red wax bearing the royal coat of arms—a boar with crossed swords underneath. Brion had only seen the coat of arms a few times, but he recognized it.

  “What is it?” Brion asked. Considering that he had been at least partly responsible for starting a war and that Seamus had just told him that they were being blamed for the old midwife’s death, Brion wasn’t sure he wanted to open the letter.

  Neahl nodded to the letter, gesturing impatiently. “Just open it.”

  Brion broke the seal and unfolded it. It crackled as writing powder spilled onto the table. He scanned the first line then looked up, first at Neahl and then at Cluny.

  “Is this a joke?” he asked.

  “No joke. You’ve got one week,” Neahl said.

  “Neahl—” Brion began.

  “Don’t even start with the excuses,” Neahl said. “It’s not a request. It’s a command from the King himself.”

  “Me?” Brion was sure that Neahl had messed something up somewhere. He glanced at the Sheriff, who wore a fatherly smile that Brion found annoying. Hayden, who stood behind the Sheriff, smirked. Tyg and Jaxon didn’t look directly at him.

  “That’s what it says,” Neahl replied. “You’ve got one week to form a company of not less than five men and not more than ten. Your orders are to penetrate the heathland, to harass the enemy at every opportunity, cut supply lines, and gather intelligence.”

  Brion stared at Neahl. “What do you mean, my orders? Aren’t you coming with me?”

  Neahl shook his head. “I’ll be leading my own company over in Laro Forest, my old stomping grounds.”

  “What about Redmond and Emyr?”

  Neahl glanced at the Sheriff, who cleared his throat.

  “Ah, well, that has become a difficult question,” Cluny said.

  Brion waited for him to continue.

  “Redmond has been, uh, how do you say, gone an awful long time,” Cluny said. “No one knows where his loyalties lie.”

  Brion gaped at Cluny. “But you’ve fought with him,” he said. He turned to Neahl. “And he’s your brother.”

  Neahl scowled. “I never said I didn’t
trust him.” He gave Cluny a meaningful glance. “But the King says he’s been in the southland too long and can’t be trusted.”

  “And he has a son who’s a Salassani,” Cluny added.

  “Emyr was kidnapped.” Brion protested. He couldn’t believe the stupidity. Of all the men to suspect of treason, Redmond and Emyr were the last.

  Brion glanced at Jaxon. Jaxon was clearly a Salassani. Why was Cluny riding around with a Salassani if none of them could be trusted? Cluny saw the direction of his gaze and raised his hands to head off Brion’s question.

  “You’re arguing with the wrong people here, Brion. The King has given his orders, and that’s the end of it. Will you accept the commission or not?”

  Brion glared at Neahl. He had expected an arrest warrant or something like that, not this. And he didn’t like being forced to make a decision without talking it over with Finola and Brigid.

  “Besides Redmond and I,” Neahl said, “you know that part of the heathlands better than any southerner alive.”

  “Can I talk to you in private?” Brion said to Neahl. Neahl glanced at Cluny and stepped out to the front of the cabin to stand beside Weyland’s and Rosland’s grave. Seamus still lurked by the side of the cabin as if he had been listening. But Brion didn’t have time to worry about Seamus.

  “I know,” Brion said.

  “What?” Neahl eyed him suspiciously.

  “I know that I may not be Weyland’s son.”

  Neahl’s mouth opened in surprise, and he stared at Brion. Then he bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Brion,” he said. “I should have told you.”

  “How long have you known?” Brion asked, struggling to control his rising frustration that Neahl would keep something this important from him.

  “Not long,” Neahl said. “There was a letter in Airic’s papers.”

  Airic was the trader they rescued from the jaws of a bear on the heathland. He had helped them until he had been murdered on their way back to Wexford by two Taurini warriors.

  “He had a note,” Neahl continued, “from the Duke of Saylen that told him to look out for you because you were his son.”