CHAPTER Three
The vision came quickly on the third day of the ride. One second Muir was riding upon his gray palfrey, the horse cantering easily toward Rhydd, the next he was in a dark forest, with mists rising up from the ferns and bracken and blood running like sap from the trees. “What devilment is this?” he asked, the pain in his bad eye excruciating as he stared at his feet.
In a misting fog, he saw a snake slithering through the undergrowth. The viper crawled up his back and coiled at his neck, then, with a hiss, it changed, biting its own tail and turning into a chain. Cold, lifeless metal cut into the folds of skin at Muir’s neck and blood—was it his?—began to flow as the links snapped, one by one, allowing him to breathe, staining his beard and tunic and disappearing.
“Muir! For the love of God, man, wake up!” Trevin reached over from his horse and shook the older man’s shoulder. On the palfrey Muir sucked in his breath and leaned forward in the saddle.
“Be gone, Devil, and take this pain with ye!”
Trevin yanked hard on his mount’s reins and the horse, lathered and muddied from hours upon the road sidestepped, nearly bumping into Muir’s animal. The five soldiers behind them slowed their mounts to skidding stops. “What is it?” Trevin demanded as the horses snorted and pawed, their ears twitching, their nostrils quivering nervously.
“’Tis trouble at Rhydd.”
“You told me of this before,” Trevin muttered, looking at the darkening sky. It was nearly nightfall and soon darkness would descend around them. With the clouds as they were there would be little moon glow or starlight to guide them. “We must be off if we are to make the castle gates before ‘tis dark.”
“Nay, nay.” Muir held a hand to his bad eye, the one that saw nothing, yet somehow foretold the future. “’Tis blood I see, blood flowing in rivers.”
“At Rhydd?”
“Aye. Aach, this pain.”
“’Tis bad, eh?”
“Worse than you can imagine. ‘Tis like the bite of a viper that never ends, or the burn of flesh, yet there be no fire. Oooh. By the gods, ‘tis a curse, I tell ye.”
“For all of us,” Trevin said dryly.
Muir scoffed and yanked on the hood of his cloak. “’Tis no time for humor. There is much trouble at Rhydd, more than I saw earlier.” He closed his one good eye and flinched as if a bolt of lightning had been flung from the sky to skewer him. “As I live and breathe,” he whispered and jolted again. His horse shied and shook his gray head, rattling the bridle and bit. “’Tis more than trouble at this castle, m’lord.”
“Don’t call me—”
“’Tis a chain I spy, one of links that are bound together. Father to son and son to father, cursed to fight and kill each other.”
“’Tis nonsense you speak.”
“Nay, Trevin,” the old one disagreed. He tore off the hood of his cloak and glared at the heavens with that unblinking, sightless eye. “God or Lucifer, I know not which.”
“I have no time for this.” Trevin kicked his destrier and the muddied horse took off again while Muir’s smaller mount and those of the other soldiers struggled to keep up as they galloped through the mud.
“I fear there is danger lurking about,” Muir called after him.
“You always fear danger.”
“Aye. And ye embrace it.”
Trevin’s mouth lifted in a grim smile. How often had he been called reckless or fearless or just plain stubborn? Too many times to count. Near the river, the road curved and the thickets of oak and pine opened to grassy fields that surrounded the bluff on which the castle had been built.
Gray stone walls surrounded the keep and rose sharply from rocky cliffs overlooking the surrounding woods. High turrets and watchtowers spired from wide battlements and appeared to scrape the underbellies of the dark clouds that rolled restlessly through the heavens. An emerald-and-gold standard snapped in the wind and the portcullis was open wide, inviting visitors inside.
Through the sheeting rain, Trevin pulled up on his mount’s reins and gazed upon the fortress where he had become a part of Lady Gwynn’s plot. He’d been young and foolish at the time—and willing, oh, so willing. Sleeping in the lady’s bed had been sweet sacrifice indeed and he’d never forgotten the feel of her skin against his rough fingers, the way she’d trembled when he’d kissed her, the pure, unashamed wanting within her. Deep within him, a dark, unbidden desire flowed again and he forced it back.
Was she naught but a rich, scheming female whose only ambition was to save her own beautiful neck? Had she not conceived a child, lied to her husband, committed willing adultery all for her own gain?
And what about you? Did you not aid her, do all that she did, to save your skin?
Aye, he was as guilty as she. And now a boy—their son—was in jeopardy.
Turning in the saddle he gave orders to his small group of soldiers. He would enter the castle alone and if he did not return with the boy or get word to his men by the time the guard in the watchtower changed, he told Gerald to return to Black Oak for reinforcements. The others were to sneak into the castle as spies.
There were already those within the keep’s well-guarded walls who would aid them for Trevin of Black Oak had men loyal to him, men with pasts blackened much as his own was, hidden within the surrounding keeps, including Rhydd. Those men, traitors to their own barons, were paid to keep him informed and warn him of any attacks to be waged against Black Oak Hall.
His plan was simple. He would sneak into Rhydd and meet with Richard the carpenter and Mildred the alewife, both of whom were paid to keep their eyes and ears open. Only then would he speak to Gwynn alone before he started bartering with her husband. He owed her that much for breaking his part of their bargain. His conscience twinged a little for he had a code of honor such as it was. His word was usually good and he had promised Gwynn to keep their secret.
“I like this not,” Muir muttered as the men dispersed into the woods.
“Trust me.”
“Bah.”
Trevin placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “If my plan goes awry, ‘tis your duty to take care of the boy, Gareth.”
“Take care of him?”
“If something happens to me, take him to the cave. Wait for me there but two days.”
“And then what?”
Trevin shook his head and offered Muir an evil grin. “Then conjure up some spells for me, old man, for ‘twill mean that something ill has happened.”
“Just as I have foreseen.”
“From the bottom of an ale cup.”
Muir shook the rain from his cowl. “’Tis not the time for jest.”
“Trust me, old man, all will be well.” Trevin turned his steed toward the yawning castle gates and leaned forward, nudging the beast’s ribs. The horse responded, tearing off and flinging mud and pebbles behind him.
“I pray it so,” Muir called after him, his old voice growing fainter. “I pray it so.”
“In the name of the Father and the Son and…”
Gwynn, kneeling in the chapel next to her new husband and the Lord of Rhydd, didn’t hear the rest of the priest’s prayer. She was married. Again. To another man she didn’t love, nay a man who she was sure was as black-hearted as his brother.
But Gareth would be safe. Banished from the castle forever, the boy would be alone in the world and she would never see him again, but he would live and he was almost a man as it was. Tears touched her eyes and her heart was heavy, but she knew she had no choice.
Father Anthony, his face a pasty white, his voice dull and without life, had finally stopped speaking. It was over. Doom settled like lead in her heart. Oh, cruel, cruel fate. She crossed her bosom quickly.
“Come, Wife,” Ian said with a wicked grin as he helped her to her feet. His hand upon her arm was hard, his fingers viselike and sickeningly possessive.
Never had she wanted to be any man’s bride and now she was married to a man she despised.
“Wait for me in your chamber as I have some business to attend to.” His eyes gleamed with an inner satisfaction that caused her insides to curdle like sour milk. “’Tis a long time I’ve waited for this night.”
Her stomach heaved, but she managed a thin, sickly smile. She could endure anything as long as she knew Gareth would come to no harm. She started to turn, but he didn’t release her. “Gwynn,” he said in a whisper. “I know of your temper and your schemes. Make no mistake, you are naught but my wife and can act no longer like the baron. While Roderick was alive, you ruled the castle, but he is now dead. I am your husband and as such I will expect your complete obedience, elsewise Gareth will be hunted down, found, and brought back to be hanged.” His fingers tightened over her arm. “Do you understand me?”
“Aye,” she said through clenched teeth.
“You will never defy me.” He stared at her face and she knew he saw the shadow of a bruise on her cheek, a painful reminder of her last husband’s hand.
“Never, my lord,” she lied, forcing the hated word over her tongue.
“Good.” He smiled smugly, then drawing her near, brushed a kiss across her lips, his beard prickly against her skin. Her stomach roiled but pulling up inner strength, she endured his attempt at tenderness. “Go to your chamber and wait for me.”
“I will.”
She half ran down the shadowy corridor and tried to convince herself that she could live through anything as long as she knew that Gareth was free and safe.
As she opened the door to her chamber, she found Idelle pouring clean water into the basin. Fresh rushes gave off a heady fragrance and new candles had been lit, their small flames giving off pools of light that caused the colors of the tapestry hanging on the wall above her bed, crimson, gold, and purple to seem deep and comforting.
“So it is done?” Idelle asked as she shook the final drops from her bucket.
“Aye,” Gwynn said with an angry sigh. “It seems my curse to be forever wed.”
“To the wrong man.”
“To any man.” Pausing at the basin, she splashed cool water onto her face and tried to think. She could leave. As soon as she knew that Gareth was safely away from Rhydd, she could pack a few things and ride as far away as possible—mayhap to stay with Luella or… oh, ‘twas foolish to think so. Ian would never let her go. Had she not promised him a castle full of sons? Did he not just vow to hunt Gareth down like a beast in the forest and see him hanged if she were to cross him?
The only way to be certain that Gareth remained safe were for her to pretend to be faithful to Ian. Each day she pretended to obey her husband would give her son that much more time to flee as far away from the castle walls as was possible. He would have to take the fastest destrier in the stables and ride to the sea where he could board a ship for some faraway port.
Oh, if she only had more time to make arrangements. “I must see my son,” she decided.
“But Ian said you were to stay here.”
“I am but his wife. Not his slave.”
“There is not much difference.” Idelle’s lips pursed into a frown.
“I will see Gareth, Idelle, and I will see him now,” she said, the fingers of one hand curling into a fist of determination. “But Ian is not to know.”
“M’lady, please, do not anger the lord.”
“I will not.” She shot Idelle a conspiring look. “Do not say a word to anyone but Gareth.”
“I like this not,” Idelle worried aloud.
Gwynn flung her favorite cloak over the damask dress she’d worn to become Ian’s wife. Ignoring the old woman’s warnings, she took the backstairs and avoided the sentries who, thankfully, were dozing at their posts, their heads nodding in time with their snores.
Hiking the hood of the cloak over her head, she ducked out the back door, sending a pair of geese scurrying into the wet grass. Darkness had fallen over the land and aside from the firelight shimmering in the doorways and windows, there was no illumination. Not that it mattered much. Gwynn knew the keep well and as her slippers slid in the mud and wet grass, she dashed along a wide path leading past pens of sheep and pigs to the stables.
Once inside, she lit a candle and was careful to place it on a metal shelf far from the straw that covered the floor. A moist wind caused the flame to flicker and dance and mingled with the scents of horse dung, sweat, leather, and straw.
Wrapping her arms about herself, she sighed and waited.
“So, m’lady, you have found yourself another husband and the first one is not yet buried.”
Gwynn jumped. Her heart jolted. The deep male voice came from the shadows behind her. She reached for her dagger.
“Who goes—oh!” Strong, callused fingers covered her mouth and a man’s head was suddenly next to hers, looking over her shoulder, his breath hot against her ear. The hand that had scrabbled for her little knife was caught by his other hand. “Fear not. ‘Tis naught but a thief.”
Trevin? Her legs were suddenly weak as the scent of him—an odor she remembered from their lovemaking—enveloped her. Slowly he removed his hand from her mouth and she licked her lips. Could it be? Was he really here?
Still holding onto her wrist he moved soundlessly into the small pool of light cast by the candle. For the first time in thirteen years, she stared into the disturbing eyes of the thief, the father of her only son. A familiar ache squeezed hard upon her heart.
“You—you scared the devil from me!”
He didn’t smile, nor did his fingers unclasp her wrist. His mirthless chuckle was positively wicked and as such disturbed her all the more. “I doubt that’s possible.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
Her stupid heart missed a beat.
“We needs talk.”
“Must we?” She glanced over her shoulder and tried to pull her arm away. His fingers tightened ever so slightly and she realized that she was trapped. He was much stronger than she, much more agile, much larger.
“What want you?”
“My son.”
There it was. Dear God, now what? A weight settled heavy on her shoulders. “We had a bargain.”
“I will keep him safe.”
“You? The thief?” she mocked. “An outlaw, a swindler who won your barony from a befuddled old man in a crooked game of dice? You will keep him safe?”
“Without a doubt, m’lady,” he said with confidence.
Dear Lord in heaven, was that her heart knocking so wildly? She hazarded a quick glance through the doorway again, hoping that Gareth would not come upon them now, but wait until she’d dispensed with this… this interloper. What would she tell her son when he ran through the open door? What could she say? This man hiding in the shadows, the purported baron of Black Oak Hall and known criminal was the man she’d chosen to betray her husband?
“I came to claim my son,” he said, as if she might not have understood his intentions.
“Now?” She shook her head. “For the love of God, Trevin, do you not know what would happen to the lad if it were known that his father was… was—”
“Not Roderick?” at last he dropped her hand.
With a sigh, she shook her head. “That much he knows.”
“But you did not tell him of me?”
“I knew not that you were the baron of Black Oak Hall.”
He studied her for a few seconds, as if she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite piece together. “Had you known?”
“I would not have told him. He’s but a lad—too young to understand.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“On your honor, you swore that you would never breathe a word.”
“I changed my mind.”
“We had a bargain,” she reminded him, the stables seeming suddenly close, the night air difficult to breathe. Thirteen years seem to fade away and he was once again her lover, the one man who had heard her moan in pleasure, seen her stretch against him with the dawn, felt the deepest, most intimate parts of her.
“Aye, and for a few baubles I gave up my son.” His voice was low, seductive.
“For a few baubles and your freedom,” she said, stepping backward, trying to break the spell of being so close to him. “If—if you had been caught you would have lost your hand, mayhap your life.”
“I had no choice,” he said simply and she felt a horrible misgiving. “For you, m’lady, would have gladly turned me over to the sheriff. Yours was the perfect seduction.”
She blushed at the memory. At the time he was barely a man, but now, so close that she could smell the scents of leather and musk around him, feel his heat, see the dark shadow of his beard there was no mistaking he was a male, hard and virile and strong.
No longer was he the dirty, misbehaved thief she had forced to do her bidding. No trace of that boy lingered. In his stead, standing in the dusky shadows was a man, a severe-appearing man, with harsh features. Black stubble shaded a rock-solid jaw, ebony brows and spiked lashes guarded eyes a dark, intense blue that followed her every move, and lips, once supple with youth, were now thin as the blade of a dagger. Dressed in black from his muddied cloak to the tips of his boots, he appeared as Stygian as any devil who had found a way to escape from the very depths of hell.
“Roderick is dead, is he not?” he asked suddenly.
“Aye, but—”
“And you’ve already found yourself a new husband.”
“’Twas part of a bargain,” she said, instantly furious. No longer intimidated, she stepped closer to him and tilted her face upward defiantly.
“Ah, and you, mistress, seem to have a way with such arrangements.”
“I keep my word,” she said haughtily.
“As I have kept mine.”
“Until now.”
“As I said, I was cornered as well as young and foolish.”
She wouldn’t give an inch. Couldn’t. Too much, even Gareth’s very life, was at stake. “You gave me your word.”
“You believed a thief?”
“I had no choice—” she said, hearing his own words coming from her lips.
“Bitter irony, is it not?” he mocked. “No, m’lady, ‘tis time I claimed my son.”
A horse nickered softly in the blackness and there was the rustle of straw as the animals shifted on the other side of their mangers. Gwynn felt desperation claw at her throat. She needed time to think, to lay plans. “Does Lord Ian know that you’re here?”
She felt, rather than saw, him tense. “I’ve not yet approached the lord,” he said, leaning one shoulder against a post supporting the roof. “I thought it best to first speak with you.”
“And so you’ve done,” she said, unnerved.
“Tell me, how is it you’re married to him before your other husband is in the grave? What kind of bargain is this?”
“One that was necessary,” she said, unwilling to give him any further information. “Now, if you will leave—”
“Not without my son.”
“He is in enough trouble as it is,” she said. “If Ian finds you here, it will only cause more.”
“What kind of trouble?”
Gwynn hesitated. “You have heard that Roderick was killed by Gareth?”
“I knew only that the baron was slain.” Trevin said, his voice sober.
“’Twas terrible. Roderick returned and met Gareth for the first time. He realized the boy was not his son and accused me of… of well, many things. None of them good.” She cleared her throat and remembered the clang of swords, the screams of pain, spray of blood, and Roderick’s last, rattling breath. “There… was a fight and Gareth, in an attempt to defend my honor and, I suppose, my life as well took up Roderick’s sword and killed him.”
“Jesus, son of God.”
“Ian saw it all and accused Gareth of murder. Sentenced him to be hanged.”
“Not as long as I breathe.”
For some reason, Gwynn felt reassured, though, in truth, what could Trevin do? Was he not assumed to be a murderer himself? She placed a hand upon his sleeve. “’Tis why I am married again. Ian… he only agreed to spare Gareth’s life if I would agree to marry him.”
With one strong finger, he lifted her chin and gazed at her with night-darkened eyes. “Think you I believe that you sacrificed yourself?”
“I did only what I had to.” She licked her lips nervously and his gaze lowered to her mouth. Her pulse jumped as she realized how alone they were, felt a tingle where his finger pressed against the sensitive skin at the underside of her jaw, sensed a dusky yearning in his touch. A flame of desire flared in his eyes and she swallowed hard. Oh, God, what was she doing here with him? Why could she not step away?
“Where is Gareth now?”
“He… he has not yet left the castle.” With all her strength, she stepped away from him and his hand fell away from her chin as she released his arm. “I await him now.”
“Good.” Trevin folded his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against a post supporting the rod. “Then, m’lady,” he said. “I will wait as well.”
The ferrets scrambled in their kennels, growling softly, their claws clicking nervously on the wooden floors.
“Quickly, over here!” Ian’s voice was but a whisper as he led the dark knight through the herb garden. Webb hobbled slightly, his wound, now stitched and bound still bothering him. They stopped at a corner of the keep, in a sheltered spot near the dove cote where the wind, damp and chill, was not so strong. “Roderick trusted you.”
“Aye.” Webb nodded and blew on his hands. “He promised to pay me well.”
“And you shall be.”
To ensure the man’s trust, Ian untied a small leather pouch from his belt, opened the bag, and poured the coins into his gloved palm. “For your service to Roderick and your allegiance to Rhydd.” He dropped the coins into the pouch again and drew the string. The coins clinked softly—such sweet, sweet music. “You will take the boy tonight and ride for three days, then kill him as quickly and as painlessly as possible.”
“’Twill be my pleasure,” Webb said. There was a muffled woof from the direction of the dog kennels a few feet away. “What was that?” Webb demanded, turning swiftly on his heel and reaching for his sword.
“Nothing. Just a nervous cur. You’re jumpy, my friend.”
“Mayhap from being hacked with your brother’s sword.” He turned around again and sheathed his weapon, his face paling with the effort. “’Tis an ill wind blowing through your keep tonight, m’lord.”
“A poet be you?”
“Nay, just a soldier for hire.”
“You have a job.” Another dog started howling and the hound master yelled sharply at his charges.
“Shut up ye bloody mutts, er I’ll teach ye a lesson ye’ll not soon forget!”
Ian waited a few tense seconds as the dogs quieted. When he spoke it was in the barest of whispers. “You must make it look as if you were attacked by outlaws. You’ll say that the boy’s brash ways got him into trouble as he tried to elude the robbers rather than give them any of his money.” Ian snapped his fingers as he thought. “Take Sir Charles and Sir Reynolds with you. They, too, must be killed, of course, and their corpses returned as well.”
“Aye.”
“Can you take care of all of them?” Ian wasn’t certain for though Webb had proven himself to Roderick, he was wounded.
“I have friends, m’lord. They be only too willing to slit a man’s throat for a few coins.”
“Good. Good.” Ian ignored his twinge of conscience. He was baron of Rhydd now. His word was law. He had to do that which was best for himself as well as the rest of the castle. “My faith is with you.”
The dark knight snorted and spat into the garden. “As well it should be, m’lord.”
Ian licked his chapped lips. He was no stranger to violence, but ‘twas not the lad’s fault he was born a bastard, and the boy had killed the one man who stood in Ian’s way of ruling Rhydd. In truth, Gareth had saved Ian the trouble of murdering his brother. Now, however, the boy, too, had to be done away with. “His mother must believe that you were laid siege upon. ‘Twould be good if you were to have suffered a wound.”
“Another?”
“’Tis well paid you are.”
“Do not worry, m’lord,” Webb sneered. “I will be sufficiently cut.”
“Your sacrifice will be rewarded.” Ian sighed in relief and picked at the skin flaking from his lips. “No one is to know otherwise. ‘Tis between us only.”
“Aye, Lord Ian. The truth is that the boy, Charles, and Reynolds were all killed by outlaws who showed no mercy. They left me, too, for dead. No torture or inquisition will ever make me say elsewise.”
“Ah, you be a good and loyal man, Sir Webb,” Ian said, wondering if this man would sell his allegiance to another for a higher price. He’d met him years ago before Webb had become a knight. Then, he was but a mercenary who had, for a while, ridden with Ian while Roderick ruled Rhydd and was married to his first wife. Ian hadn’t trusted the man then, but now, through a twist of the fates, he was forced to depend upon the dark knight. “When you return, you will be paid again, thrice what we agreed upon. Also, lest you think your deeds go unappreciated, I will make you my most trusted knight upon full recovery of your wounds.”
“See that I do recover,” Webb warned, his voice low and without a trace of jest. “Elsewise the outlaws who be my friends will come for you and your wife.”
“Do not fear.” They clasped hands firmly and Ian felt the strength in Webb’s fingers—stronger than steel.
“So be it.” Webb tied the purse to his belt and winced at a jab of pain in his thigh, as if his wound was throbbing.
They parted ways and did not notice the two sets of eyes watching them from a hiding space under the dog kennels. Gareth held the half-grown pup his mother had given him this past boon day, during the harvest season. While trying to keep the playful dog quiet, he had hard each bone-chilling word exchanged between the man he’d thought was his uncle and the knight he’d maimed this afternoon. Ian meant to kill him and Webb was only too glad to do the deed. All of Gareth’s bravado evaporated in the frigid night and he shivered as he cradled the clawing, wild hound to his chest. He could not waste a second, for with each beat of his heart he came closer to being discovered and murdered.
He had the coins and rings his mother had dropped into his pack earlier as well as the cross, a dagger, and black cloak. He didn’t dare make his way to the stables for fear he would be caught. Though he would love to ride Dragon at a breakneck gallop through the main gate and across the moat bridge to the forest, he couldn’t take the chance of running into Webb or Ian. Asides, he would be able to buy a good horse with his small cache should he need one, but, for now, he had to run as far from Rhydd as possible.
“Come, Boon,” he ordered softly. He pocketed apples from the storage bin and a loaf of day-old bread being saved for the beggars, then whistled softly to the speckled pup who had more energy than brains.
Not for the first time in his twelve years, Gareth opened the sally port near the kennels, cringed as the huge door creaked on its ancient hinges, and let it swing open behind him as he, still holding the scrambling dog, dropped the six feet to the sodden ground.
He landed hard, twisted an ankle, but took off at a dead run through the swampy grasslands and into the black moat. The water was cold as ice, but he swam the brackish span, his skin turning blue, his body chilled to the marrow of his bones.
Boon, with only his head above the water line, splashed and swam enthusiastically at his side.
Teeth rattling, Gareth climbed up the opposite shore and ran, hobbling across the grassland as Boon shook the water from his coat.
“Come!” Gareth ordered in a hoarse whisper. Sometimes the dog had not a brain in his head! He whistled softly and Boon bounded to his side.
In the forest it was black as the very depths of hell. Gareth could barely distinguish the gnarled, twisted shapes of the trees or the path that veered through the thicket. Still he ran with the pup at his heels.
Vines tripped him. Branches slapped his face. Cobwebs clung to his skin. Thorns tore at his breeches and his boots were so wet they sloshed, but he sped along the twisting trails, faster and faster, the burn in his ankle cutting like a knife, his young heart pumping, his lungs burning, tears blinding his eyes. He knew not where he was going, but fear chased him on.
“Come, Boon, blast you!” he said, gasping as the dog stopped short and growled. “Hurry! The devil will have us both if Sir Webb catches up to us.”
“Who be you?”
The voice rumbled from the darkness.
“Ahh!” Gareth screamed as a hand, seeming to snake out of the very soul of the forest, clamped around his wrist in a death grip. “Hush!”
The dog lunged, but the voice commanded, “Stay, beast!” Boon stopped cold.
The fingers around his arm tightened as if drawn by an invisible string and yet he saw no one in the dark, gloomy night. “Now, boy, who be ye and what are ye running from?”
‘Twas Satan, Gareth thought wildly, his blood pumping through his veins. Lucifer had come up from hell to capture him. He tried to speak, but his voice was lost and for a second he thought he might wet himself. “I—I—” Should he lie? What if this man, nay this demon, was one of Webb’s outlaws, the men who wanted to slit his throat.
“I know who ye be. Y’er Gareth of Rhydd, are ye not?”
Gareth’s tongue wouldn’t work and he reached for the knife at his belt with his free hand. He’d kill this bastard from Hades before the creature had a chance to slay him.
“Do it not, boy,” the voice commanded, “or, ‘tis certain ye and this mutt ye call a dog, will both meet yer doom.”