Chapter Twenty Two #2
“Look at me,” Catarina hissed.
Slowly, Thomas lifted his head.
“You know who I am?” she said, fear and anger forming a knot in her throat.
Thomas’s brows came together the instant before he shifted his gaze back to the ground. She knew his answer when he could not look her in the eye.
She clenched her fists. “How could you?”
“What were ye going to do?” Quinn gritted, jerking Thomas even closer. Still, Thomas kept his eyes trained on the ground. “Wait for an opportunity to snatch her away and deliver her up to the very devils who destroyed her life, those who would see her hang or worse?” He shook Thomas again.
“Answer me,” Quinn shouted.
“It started out that way,” Thomas said quickly.
“What were ye planning on doing with me then,” Quinn said, his voice deadly soft. “Were ye waiting for the opportunity to slit my throat?”
“I wouldn’t have killed ye,” Thomas muttered. “I was just waiting until ye left her alone.” He looked up then and locked eyes with Quinn. “But ye never leave her alone.”
A sob rose in Catarina’s throat, drawing Quinn’s gaze. She pressed her fist to her lips to choke back her tears.
Thomas reached out his hands. “My lady, I swear I wasn’t going to hurt ye. It was not long after we met that I knew ye couldn’t have done what that man accused ye of. I knew ye were innocent. I swear I wasn’t going—”
A rumbling bloodhound bark echoed through the forest, twisting the pit of Catarina’s stomach.
“They’ve fastened on her scent again,” Thomas said, his voice rising in pitch. “Run!”
Catarina dropped to her knees and started to shove their skillet in her satchel.
“Leave it, Catarina. ‘Tis too late,” Quinn urged, grabbing her forearm and pulling to her feet. “To the river,” he said.
Catarina gripped the plaid beneath her chin and raced behind Quinn, her heart thundering in her ears. Fear choked the air from her lungs. Dogs with sharp teeth and powerful jaws knew her smell and wanted to find her. A whimper fled her lips. She feared the beasts were upon her.
SUN SLANTED THROUGH the canopy of tall Scots pines while Stephen trailed behind his party.
He had awoken that morning feeling more anxious than he had since first setting out.
Rupert was becoming increasingly unpredictable and violent.
He talked to himself, sometimes shouting obscenities but at no one—just an empty space in a room or an open road.
He abused his men over the slightest provocation.
The night before, he again refused to feed Jasper or the dogs.
Stephen had to slip Jasper coin when Rupert wasn’t looking.
Edgar, Jarrett, and Aldwin had grown quiet around Rupert, avoiding eye contact, and more recently around Stephen as well, clearly fearful that Stephen might repeat something overheard to his brother.
Stephen’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his reins.
He knew not the best course of action, but what he did know and for certain was that Rupert was going mad.
His eyes settled on his older brother who rode in front of the knights just behind Jasper who was jogging with the dogs, their leashes slack in his hand to give them lead.
Stephen’s chest tightened. He was struck by how narrow Rupert’s shoulders appeared.
And it was no wonder—he hardly ate. He barely slept.
In fact, just the night before Stephen and the soldiers slept in the common room of an inn on threadbare pallets while Rupert took the one room available upstairs.
For hours, Stephen lay awake, listening to Rupert’s pacing above their heads, broken up by intermittent banging or cursing so loud that it could be heard through the floorboards.
His brother’s health was failing. This Stephen did not doubt.
Even at that moment, Rupert looked as if he was slipping from his saddle.
Stephen pressed his lips together and nudged his horse faster.
He would catch up to Rupert and suggest they rest for a spell.
“Good girl, Molly,” Jasper called out. The dogs howled and quickened their pace.
“Damn it,” Stephen cursed under his breath. Molly had once more fastened on Catarina’s scent.
Rupert glanced back at him, an eager glint in his eye. “Hurry, Stephen.”
A knot formed in the pit of Stephen’s stomach as he drove his heels into his horse’s flanks and rode up alongside his brother.
“Scan the trees,” Rupert said. “This time I am certain we’ve got her.”
Stephen could not share Rupert’s enthusiasm.
He wanted justice for his brother’s death, and more than anything, he wanted to know the whereabouts of Nicholas.
Nothing mattered more than finding Ravensworth’s heir.
And although he longed for the blasted hunt to end so that he could go home, he had no wish to see Catarina hurt.
The idea alone broke his heart. Praying silently that she was nowhere in that thick forest, he did as he was bade and scanned the trees.
And then his heart sank. Ahead of them was a figure fully cloaked in plaid.
The billowing fabric obscured the person’s shape, but judging from the height alone, he knew it could, indeed, be Catarina.
“It is she,” Rupert shouted as his horse jumped out in front of Stephen’s, passing Jasper and the dogs.
Stephen charged after him, never taking his eyes off Catarina.
In moments, Rupert was upon her.
“No, Rupert,” Stephen shouted as Rupert leaned in his saddle, reaching out to grab her, his fingers splayed wide, seizing a hungry fist-full of plaid. The tartan soared through the air, leaving its owner bereft of cover.
Stephen’s breath rushed from his lips the instant before Rupert released a pained bellow to the sky.
A young man lay in a heap on the ground, covering his sandy blond head with his arms.
Stephen pulled on his reins and slid from his horse, determined to reach the boy before Rupert who still seethed in his saddle, staring up at the sky with his hands closed in tight fists.
Stephen knelt beside him. “Speak quickly, boy, if you value your life. Who are you?”
The boy lifted his head, revealing a face with a smattering of bright freckles. “My name is Thomas Munroe of the clan Munroe. This is my father’s land. I am on my way home.”
Stephen grabbed the back of Thomas’s head and leaned close. “Listen to me. Get on your feet and run. Run faster than you’ve ever run before.”
Thomas’s green eyes widened. He nodded furiously, then jumped to his feet and bolted through the trees.
“Stop him, you fool,” Rupert snarled.
“Let him go, Rupert. He’s a boy. He is nothing to us.”
Rupert shifted in his saddle. “Crossbows,” he bellowed to his men. “Bring him down!”
No one reached for their weapons.
Rupert released a vicious snarl before he drove his heels into his horse’s flanks and charged at Sir Edgar.
“No,” Stephen choked out, his heart lodged in his throat as Rupert drew his sword and swung.
Edgar’s head dropped to the ground. An instant later, his body slid from his horse.
Stephen squeezed his eyes shut but winced when he heard the thud.
The forest began to spin. His mind reeled.
Then the thud of hooves forced Stephen’s eyes open just as Rupert pulled his horse close.
“Do not blame me, Stephen. If you hadn’t let the boy go, Edgar would still be alive,” he hissed. “His death is on your head, not mine.”
Shock forced Stephen’s mouth agape, but any reply he had was trapped beneath horror and disbelief.
Rupert shook his head as he sneered at Stephen’s cowardice.
“You bring shame to the Ravensworth name.” Then he whirled around and stormed toward Jasper.
“What are your dogs playing at? Are you trying to make a fool of me?” Grabbing fistfuls of Jasper’s tunic, he jerked him close.
Jasper’s pale blue eyes betrayed nothing.
His face was as impassive as stone. Rupert snarled at the commoner’s indifference.
“Fail me again, and I will skin your dogs alive, starting with Molly.”
A low, thick growl sounded. Rupert looked down. Molly’s jowls rippled as she bared her teeth at him.
“At least someone here has courage,” he shouted for all to hear.
Rupert glared at his men. Stephen was staring at him as though he were some kind of monster.
Jarret and Aldwin and his other knights had begun to dig a grave for Edgar, using their shields to scoop away the earth.
Rupert’s eyes narrowed. He knew they all despised him.
Every single one of them wanted to see him fail.
He could trust no one. He locked eyes with Stephen. “Least of all you,” he snarled.
“I know not of which you speak,” Stephen said, his voice cracking before he turned away.
Again, Molly growled. Rupert kicked her in the belly. She cried out and circled behind Jasper, her tail between her legs.
“I am your master’s master,” Rupert shouted at the dogs. Then he spun on his heel and stormed toward his mount. “Leave Edgar. He does not deserve the honor of a proper burial.”
Stephen whirled around. “No, Rupert. You cannot mean that.”
Rupert ignored Stephen’s protest. He swung up into his saddle. “Jasper,” he snapped. “Cast your mutts. Find her scent again.”