Chapter Fifteen
“Tell me where your liege took my daughter and I shall be merciful.”
When Morgan did not reply fast enough, another crushing blow caught him in the kidneys and he sank to his knees, a small grunt of pain the only outward display of his agony. When Breck prepared to deliver another kick to the man’s already-bruised midsection, the baron extended a sharp hand.
“Answer me, Sir Morgan. Where did de Moray take my daughter?”
Breathing heavily from the anguish of broken ribs, Morgan’s gaze was unwavering. “As I told you, I do not know. Why are you so concerned with their disappearance if your daughter is betrothed to the man? Mayhap….”
A powerful boot to his side sent Morgan to the floor. Breck loomed over the struggling man, his pimpled face flushed with anger. “She is not betrothed to de Moray, she is betrothed to me. Your liege stole my bride and I fully intend to prosecute him for thievery!”
Gazing up at the irate young knight, Morgan’s countenance was confused. “Thievery? What… what are you talking about? As of last eve, Bose was betrothed to the Lady Summer.”
Breck sneered, unsympathetic to the knight’s misery. “A verbal contract and nothing more. After Lord du Bonne was presented with the true characteristics of his future son-in-law, he wisely decided to betroth his daughter to a finer man. Me, in fact.”
Morgan appeared even more confused. “You? God’s Blood, Kerry, how in the hell did you manage to convince the baron that you were a finer man than Bose?”
“With my help, Sir Morgan,” Margot sat against the distant wall, far removed from the torture at hand and sampling another bottle of the baron’s fine Bordeaux.
She’d been settled behind Morgan, out of his line of sight and he had been unaware of her presence.
As he struggled to catch a glimpse of the familiar, hated voice, Margot merely sipped her wine in satisfied warmth.
“It was necessary that Baron Lulworth be told of Bose’s murderous and greedy tendencies.
He agrees with Breck and I completely. Do you not, darling? ”
Edward did not look to the woman who seemed to have overtaken his house and hold within the past several hours.
From the moment she had convinced him of her son-in-law’s dark character, she hadn’t set foot from Chaldon.
Confiscating the largest unoccupied guest chamber in the upper hall, she had moved in as her severely wimpled lady ordered all of Lady Margot’s possessions removed from de Moray’s tent and relocated into the newly-selected bower.
Margot had come to see that the baron was not only petty, selfish and vain, but he was exceedingly dimwitted and moronic.
Whereas Bose’s intelligent mind could be manipulated by his tremendous sense of grief, Edward could be exploited purely for the fact that he seemed to lack a will of his own.
And with the man’s sons conspicuously absent, tending to the tournament and their sister’s social affairs, Margot saw the opportunity to draw yet another man into her venomous web.
She had found another victim to occupy her twisted attention.
A process that was already beginning as Morgan Skye lay upon the cold stone of the foyer, beaten and bloodied by an irate Breck Kerry.
Arrested on the joust field when word of Bose de Moray’s abduction of Lady Summer had reached Edward’s ears, hordes of du Bonne soldiers continued to lay search for the rest of de Moray’s men.
The three remaining knights and Bose’s aged uncle, however, were yet to be found and Edward had vocally suspected his absent sons having something to do with the knights’ disappearance.
“Indeed,” Edward replied to Margot’s question. “My daughter cannot marry a murderer, a man only interest in obtaining her family’s wealth. Again I ask you; tell me where your liege has gone and I will be merciful.”
Morgan managed to regain his balance, still on his knees.
The expression on his face, however, was solid.
“Bose is not a murderer. Margot knows as well as I that her daughter perished in childbirth, yet she seems intent to spread lies to the contrary. Lies that would destroy Bose all to satisfy her twisted sense of revenge.”
As Margot’s expression visibly darkened, Breck slapped Morgan across the mouth and nearly sent him toppling over again.
“Enough of your distortions. Everyone knows Bose de Moray killed his wife in order to gain her inheritance. The fabrications you weave are simply to mask the truth in defense of your liege.”
“I do not hide the truth. But Lady Margot does.”
“Lies!”
Morgan turned to the flush-faced knight, a corrupt man that seemed to be growing more corrupt and vile by the moment.
His countenance, his demeanor, in spite of having been righteously beaten, remained entirely cool.
“Why do you want her so badly, Breck? What is the Lady Summer to you other than another merciless conquest?”
Breck seemed to falter, the sinister light in his small blue eyes flickering unstably.
“She is… she is the most beautiful woman in Dorset and it is only right that she be my wife,” apparently recovered from his moment of uncertainty, his features hardened once more.
“No more foolish prattle to avoid the subject, Skye. Where did Bose take my bride?”
Morgan sighed, weakly, seeing that he was about to meet with more abuse as a result of his honest answer.
“As I have said at least a dozen times, I do not know. I was not even aware of the lady’s imprisonment and I certainly have no knowledge of where Bose would take her. He has friends all over this country.”
Breck was preparing to strike him again when Edward, in a surprising show of power, firmly stopped him.
Sulking and angry, Breck moved away from Morgan and paced like a caged bull, muttering to himself in a gesture of madness.
The baron tore his eyes away from Morgan long enough to watch the pimple-faced knight tear a hole in his fine Persian rug with the heel of his armored boot.
“Logic would dictate one of two possibilities, young Kerry,” he said quietly.
“He has either taken my daughter to the nearest abbey to marry her, or he has taken her directly to his fortress. In either case, I would suggest we start looking for him at the seat of his power. Eventually, I would suspect, he will have to return home.”
Rising from her cushioned chair, Margot set her chalice to a small engraved tray and made her way toward the baron. “How brilliant of you to anticipate his plans, my lord. Ravendark is just outside of Salisbury; if your men ride hard, they can be there by tomorrow morn.”
Breck, not to be left out of the conversation, ordered the nearest sergeant to ready a company of men to ride to Ravendark. As the soldier fled the solar, he moved toward Margot and Edward.
“I will have de Moray captured and returned to Chaldon for trial,” he said decisively, focusing closely on Edward. “I am an outsider to Dorset, my lord. Who is your liege?”
Edward looked to the young knight, seemingly not as excited about de Moray’s capture as he should have been.
In fact, he had been rather quiet and distracted throughout the entire interrogation with Morgan Skye and except for his clear-minded suggestion as to how to trail the fugitive and his captive, seemed to once again lapse into a sluggish demeanor.
“The Marquis of Cerne, Lord Bruce Eggardon,” he replied quietly, almost lethargically. “He resides in Poole.”
“Then we will send word to Poole as to the circumstances and charges,” Breck acknowledged. “After de Moray is captured, I would see Lord Eggardon preside over his trial and sentencing.”
“I cannot believe that you would actually prosecute Bose for thievery when it was he who was betrothed to the lady first,” Morgan had been silent throughout the entire conversation, but no longer.
Now on his feet, bound and bloodied, his liquid brown eyes were rolling with fury.
“If there is to be any manner of punishment dealt, Baron Lulworth, you should be the one to receive it. Had you not broken your word, none of this would have happened.”
Breck moved toward the battered knight, reeking of rage as he once again balled his fist for yet another painful blow. “This is none of your affair, Skye. If you would simply tell us…!”
“Touch him again and I will kill you.”
All present in the room heard the rumbling, thoroughly threatening voice.
Breck stopped short of Morgan, turning in the direction of the hazard directed at his intended action; certainly, when he discovered the origin, he was not surprised in the least. Edward’s expression, however, was writ with astonishment and glee as he rose from his chair, his gaze fixed upon the latest entrant to the cast of players.
“Stephan!”
Stephan entered the lavish solar, still clad in his ceremonial armor from his waived joust bout.
His handsome face was exceedingly grim as his massive boots met with the hard stone of the chamber and behind him, Ian and Lance were equally imposing and grim.
In fact, Edward had never seen his sons appear so determined.
“Where have you been, Stephan?” Edward demanded, moving away from Margot and toward his powerful sons. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Do you know that de Moray has taken Summer?”
Stephan eyed his father, never more ashamed of the man as he bore witness to the activities of the room. “I know. I helped him.”
Edward gasped. “You… you helped him? Why in God’s name…?”