Page 15

Pictures of Mary buried in the bushes, raped, beaten, stabbed, played out in ugly images in Bria’s mind. “Mary!” Bria repeated, her voice cracking with despair. Tears rose in her eyes. I shouldn’t have left her.

Garret’s arm tightened around her waist.

But Bria leaned away from him, resisting his attempt at comfort.

Garret nudged the horse forward slowly.

Bria searched the sides of the road as they rode by, hoping something would appear, something they’d missed before, some clue that Mary was still alive, a sign her friend was all right.

But there was nothing, no blood, no bodies, not even a sign of a scuffle. Of course, Kenric wouldn’t have left any evidence of what he had done.

She’d never know what he did with Mary.

Deep down, Bria knew if Mary hadn’t returned by now, she wasn’t going to. Even acknowledging this to herself was admitting defeat. If she just kept looking, if she didn’t give up, everything would be all right.

And then something caught her eye. “Wait!”

Garret pulled the horse to a halt and Bria dismounted, swinging her leg over the horse’s back, never taking her gaze from what looked like a piece of red cloth stuck to the bark of a tree. She hurried over to it.

Bria stopped before the tree, looking at the cloth for a long moment. Finally, she touched it then quickly pulled her hand back. Her fingertips were stained red. Sickened, Bria lifted her eyes to the piece of cloth again. It wasn’t red. It was saturated with blood. The edges were still brown, the same brown as the dress Mary had been wearing. Bria crushed the material in her trembling hand. “Mary,” she whispered, staring down at the red-stained fabric in her palm.

Garret moved up behind her. “It might not be hers,” he said softly.

Bria turned to look at him, her vision blurred with tears. Garret reached out to her, pulling her close.

They both knew it was Mary’s.

Terran stared out the window of his bedroom in Castle Knowles. Garret, he thought again. Garret Dysen. Even though Odella’s father believed Terran to be a better match for his daughter, Odella’s heart had already been taken.

The door squeaked open behind him. He didn’t turn from the rising sun. What could he do for her? Would he release her to make her happy? Could he let her go to another man to give her life?

The footsteps of an invader entered the deathly quiet chambers.

“M’lord,” Kenric whispered. His voice sounded like a scream in the soundless room.

Terran didn’t answer him, didn’t move.

Kenric lowered his voice even further. “The herbalist is missing.”

Terran whirled. “What do you mean, missing?”

“She’s gone, Terran. We’ve searched everywhere.”

“Then get another!” Terran demanded. “It’s Odella’s only hope. Bring me some concoction that will make her well!”

“I brought a physician instead,” Kenric said softly.

“I told you I don’t want a physician,” Terran growled.

“Terran, be reasonable!” Kenric urged. “He’s better than nothing.”

Terran turned his gaze to Odella as soft footsteps echoed through the room. Her angelic face was so at peace, so soft and delicate.

A tall, thin old man stepped into his view. The old man bent immediately over Odella and a fierce protectiveness surged in Terran’s chest. He forced the feeling aside and pressed his back against the cold stone wall. His eyes never left the physician.

“Terran, you should get some rest,” Kenric advised.

Terran snorted his disagreement and crossed his arms over his chest. He was going nowhere. His cold black eyes remained locked on the physician. So help this man if he made one mistake, just one. He’d kill him with his bare hands.