Chapter Twenty
Black, writhing shadows with mouths straining wide charged at Rupert.
He scurried back, collapsing against a tangled thorn bush.
The jagged branches entwined his arms and legs, holding him prisoner.
The more he struggled, the deeper the spikes tore his flesh.
He cried out. Ripples of hot pain shot through his body, and then he froze.
The ground at his feet shook and split, tearing a deep chasm from which shadowy phantoms rose up, wailing and shrieking.
Icy breath, which stank of death, caressed his face, their cavernous mouths opening, sucking him down into the black void.
He tunneled toward darkness, chunks of flesh tearing off his bones, and then the world was ablaze in white fire.
He jerked awake. He was in his own bed in his chambers at Ravensworth.
His heart pounded in his ears as relief washed over him.
He felt his body, a crazed laugh escaping his lips when his fingers touched, smooth, unblemished skin.
He pulled back his blanket but paused. His iron hand was gone, but the new one was not his own.
It was smaller, smoother. He scurried from bed, wobbling on legs that were longer and slimmer than they should be.
Crossing the room, he stood before the mantle and looked at his reflection.
“You will never be me, Rupert.”
“No!” he shrieked again and again at Henry’s face smiling back at him.
“Rupert!”
Stephen’s face came into focus, forcing the demons to retreat. Panting, Rupert grabbed Stephen’s tunic. “Help me. They are coming for me.”
“No one is coming,” Stephen said, his eyes wide. “You were dreaming again.”
Rupert froze. Still gripping tight to Stephen’s tunic, he scanned the room.
“It was naught but a dream,” Stephen said, his voice meant to soothe.
Rupert released his grip and sat up with a jerk. “Where am I?”
“Caithness, at the Village of Gobag mhòr,” Stephen said, backing away.
Rupert remembered then, all of it. Catarina’s flight. The frustration of their fruitless hunt. His hands covered his face. He wiped the torment from his eyes. “Bring me beer.”
Rupert pushed off his blanket. It was no wonder he slept poorly.
He was parched. After a short while, a serving girl arrived, carrying a tray laden with bread and meat and a pitcher of beer.
Behind her, two men carried a large tub.
And behind them, several more servants followed, each carrying buckets of hot water.
He wrinkled his nose at the food. “Take it away,” he said. Then he sank into the steaming water and downed his beer just as Stephen entered.
“You need to eat,” Stephen said.
Rupert refilled his cup, dismissing his brother’s concern with a flick of his hand.
Stephen looked as though he might try to insist, but then he shook his head, clearly thinking better of it. Instead, he took a seat on the other side of the room. “An informant came forward this morning. He claimed to have seen Catarina.”
Rupert jolted upright. Water sloshed on the floor. “Here, in Gobag mhòr?”
“He claimed to have seen her several days ago, heading toward the mountains of Caithness. The description he gave led me to believe it was she.”
Rupert climbed from the tub. “Fool,” he bit at Stephen. “Why would you order me a bath when we are so close? Go. Ready the horses.”
Stephen shook his head. “I took the men and scoured the surrounding countryside while you slept. I even met with the laird of Clan Sinclair, but he had heard of no such reports.”
Rupert clenched his fists. “Damnation,” he cursed. Then he whirled around and grabbed Stephen’s tunic and jerked him close. “What of Nicholas?”
Stephen pressed his lips together, not meeting Rupert’s gaze.
“What of Nicholas?” he snarled again.
Stephen winced. “He did not report seeing a baby.”
He pushed Stephen away. “Where is Nicholas?” he thundered. Then he whirled around. “She killed Henry. Who’s to say she did not kill Nicholas as well.”
Stephen’s arms stiffened, and his hands locked in tight fists. “You are wrong, Rupert. Catarina would never harm Nicholas.”
Rupert shoved his finger in Stephen’s face. “A woman so depraved that she could kill her own husband, her lord and master, would think nothing of destroying his heir.”
“No,” Stephen blustered, backing away.
Rupert stared hard into Stephen’s wide, horrified eyes. “Then where is Nicholas?” he said, his voice deadly soft.
Stephen sagged. “I don’t know,” he said, his eyes downcast.
“Ready the men. We will take to the mountains.”
Stephen opened the door, but just as he was about to shut it Rupert called out, “Make sure Jasper does not to feed the dogs. He’s made them soft and lazy.”
Stephen turned. “How can they track her without food in their bellies?”
“I will not feed failure. Do not give them so much as a dry bone until they have picked up her scent. I will take the hand off any man I see feed them.”
“They are liable to turn against us if ye starve them,” Stephen warned.
Rupert scoffed. “I’d like to see them try.”