Page 16 of An Outlaw’s Desire

“When will I see you again?” Fenton’s voice wobbled. “I hardly ever see you.”

A groan broke from Pitt as he wrapped both arms around his son. The boy slumped against him and sobbed.

“Hush now,” Pitt murmured against his child’s hair. “’Twill be all right.”

“I hate being on my own.”

“’Tis how it must be for now.”

Fenton drew back and stared up at Pitt. “Why must it be so?”

Pitt shook his head. He really didn’t know what to say that would help, but he’d try his best. “His lordship gave you a place in his household. That means you have a duty to him; one you cannot forsake.”

The lad sniffled. “But—”

“One day, I will arrive at the castle to collect you. We will leave together, and you will come to live with me.”

“I want that now.”

“So do I.” Pitt swallowed hard. “But, ’tis not possible yet.”

“Soon?”

“I hope so.” Pitt forced a cheerful smile. “In the meantime, let’s find a way for you to remember this autumn adventure in the woods.” He reached into his cloak and took out a small drawstring leather pouch. “How about a few colorful leaves? Can you find those?”

Fenton wiped tears from his face with his knuckles. “How many?”

“Three.”

“Four?”

Pitt nodded. “Fine. Four.”

The boy jumped down from the log and ran over to a fallen branch. “I like this leaf with lots of yellow.”

“’Tis indeed a good one.” Pitt tucked the leaf into the bag. “Now, can you find one with a bit of red?”

Rustling overhead brought Pitt back to the edge of the forest near Millenstowe Keep. He reached for his knife, but judging by the noise, the animal in the tree branches was scurrying away. His arm dropped back to his side.

Night had fallen a short while ago, and moonlight cast a silvery glow upon the fortress. Flickering torches on the battlements and by the gatehouse splashed gold across the stonework.

Soon, he’d be leading armed men to broach the castle.

Soon, he’d be seizing control of the fortress and everyone in it.

No one would be allowed to enter or leave until he had located the treasure. Sherborne was certain someone within the fortress knew where the riches were buried; they must be persuaded to yield the information.

“Question the servants as well. Use whatever means you think are necessary,” his lordship had said, his gaze unrelenting.

Pitt crossed his arms to ward off the night chill and leaned his shoulder against the rough bark of a tree. Earlier, he’d watched a group of riders leave the castle. Sherborne had advised Pitt that Lord and Lady Montgomery, Rosetta, Ash, and Ash’s nephew would be traveling with armed guards to a holiday celebration. They would be away for several days: the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the castle.

How, though, had Sherborne known of Lord Montgomery’s plans? If Sherborne had contacts within the fortress, it seemed odd he’d have coerced Pitt to lead the siege. That could only mean his lordship hadn’t revealed all of his intentions to Pitt—one of the reasons he’d come to confirm as many of the details Sherborne had given him as possible.

The icy breeze stirred up the scents of loam and mildewed leaves: smells that pulled Pitt’s thoughts back to creeping through the underbrush with a bow in hand and quiver of arrows over his shoulder, while he, Sherborne, Ash, and the other squires had hunted for target practice. They’d placed bets on who would return to the castle with the most rabbits. He remembered the excitement of those hunts, the competitiveness, the thrill of once winning the day and being lauded as a champion by his friends that night in the great hall.

Movement drew his gaze to the castle’s battlements: a changing of the guards. Judging by what Pitt had observed, his lordship kept to a similar schedule as when Pitt had served as a squire.

His stomach clenched, for of all he’d imagined for his life, he hadn’t expected to be back on this estate under such circumstances. How far Pitt had fallen from the chivalrous young lad he’d once been. Self-loathing and regret made his eyes burn. Yet, to save Fenton, he had no choice but to embrace dishonor.