Page 3

It was Loretta, her maid.

Bloody bastard. Freya would kill him.

Chapter Three

“You are not going in alone, Rory.”

He and his cousin Conall had prepared for this moment. As they watched the wagon make its way toward them, there was only one point of contention between them.

“You will draw too much attention,” Rory argued, not for the first time.

While six men fed and watered their horses nearby, the cousins stood side by side in the road. It had taken three days to find a merchant traveling west, and from what appeared in the distance, the one that approached them would serve their purposes well.

“And you will not?”

Rory allowed himself a smile. Aye, he stood out wherever he went, but not for the same reasons as his cousin. Both taller than the average man, Conall was unusually so. Like his father, Conall was a beast of a man. And for this mission, they needed no unnecessary gazes their way.

“Your size cannot be hidden as easily as my visage.”

Conall laughed. “Your face has little to do with the reason none will believe you a merchant, Rory. As attractive as it might be.”

“I thank you for the compliment, cousin.”

“Ugh, you never give it up.”

“That is where you are wrong, Conall. I give it up quite often.”

The wagon continued to approach. Two figures sat behind a single ox, though from here Rory could not see the goods they carried.

“Your ego,” Conall muttered. “Not the use of your cock.”

“Ahh.” He pretended to have misunderstood. “Without the first, I’d not have the opportunity for the second. Besides,” he said before his cousin could reply. “If I do find trouble, I will need someone on the outside to fetch me out of it.”

Conall was silent at that.

The plan was a simple one. Two of them would ride into the gates of Edyington Castle while the others would remain outside its walls. If the small retrieval party did not return in two days’ time, the others would return to Bristol Manor, the closest of their family’s holdings, and secure additional assistance.

Rory, as he’d volunteered to do, would find Lady Freya and aid her to safety.

Before Rory and Conall had left Brockburg, the Brotherhood had devised many different plans, but the best one, devised by Conall’s father, Rory’s Uncle Alex, held promise due to its simplicity. Conall had assumed the two of them would be the ones to sneak inside Edyington’s walls, but Rory disagreed on that point, one which they’d yet to settle.

In the end, though, Rory’s plan would win out. It always did.

“If they refuse the wagon?” Conall asked as the pair drew even closer. Rory waited to confirm it, but as the merchant was nearly upon them, he could see her easily now. A man and his wife. The wagon was all but theirs.

“Ah hell, Rory. You’re as like to incite the man to a duel as you are to get them to agree. Go easy on her.”

They were young, not much older than he and his cousin. If either had seen thirty summers, Rory would be surprised. And she was comely too.

He considered Conall’s words as the cart slowed and they approached. Deliberately, though it went against his nature, he addressed the husband first.

“Good day, sir,” he said, smelling the hides for the first time. He had wondered what kind of merchant he was to play. Rory knew little of leather-making, but if his nose did not fail him, that was the final destination for the animal hides the cart covering hid from view. “Mistress,” he said, this time with a twinkle in his eye. One he’d taken a lifetime to perfect.

His efforts were not wasted. Her smile was the kind he’d become well accustomed to. Secretive, holding a promise that, given her marital status, it should not. But Rory had bedded enough married women to know such a status meant little to too many.

“Good day,” his cousin added beside him as the cart rolled to a stop. Without giving him further opportunity to speak, or anger the husband—something Rory was not so foolish as to do, given the stakes of their mission—Conall addressed the man, who thus far had yet to greet them in return. No doubt suspicious of them, as Rory would be, the merchant focused on his cousin as Rory continued to ensure the wife, at least, would have no other answer for them but “aye.” Conall continued, “I will be quick about our purpose. We are in need of your wagon.”

At that, as expected, the merchant balked, but Rory stepped in with a smile. “And do not intend any harm upon you or your wife. We wish to purchase it from you.” Rory whistled toward the trees, and waited. One of his men appeared with two palfreys worth more than ten times the cart and its contents. “An exchange,” he said. “They are yours for you to return from whence you came.”