died. I couldn’t bring myself to think of marriage. Even though he made Nick vow to take care of me with his dying breath.”
Constance heard the sound of footsteps coming down the narrow hall toward the man’s cell. Owen returning to fetch her. She didn’t have much time.
“And then, a minstrel appeared at Fitzroy Castle,” Constance said in rush, trying to get her story out. “He sang of love and virtue and honor. All the things I dreamt of. He appeared as a blond angel, and I fell in love with him.”
The key rattled in the cell door. Owen flung the heavy wooden door wide.
“Come on, wench. Your time is up,” Owen snarled from the doorway.
Constance glanced over her shoulder at the guard, then quickly glanced back at the prisoner.
“I will return tomorrow with whatever I can bring you,” she vowed.
“Be careful,” he warned. “He is more dangerous than you even know.”
****
Autumn, England—By the Sea
He waited for Robert to return to his cottage. The old man left in the morning and it was nearly dark now.
Since then he’d done a great deal of thinking. He knew who he was now. His name was Finius Loutrant.
And with that certain knowledge of his identity came something else. Rage. And a burning all-powerful hatred for his enemy. Brian Fitzroy.
Loutrant recalled it all now. Fitzroy tricked him into falling from the tower window. All thought he fell to his death, but somehow he survived and was found by Robert.
The only reason he was spared from death, Loutrant decided, was so he could exact his revenge on Brian Fitzroy.
Loutrant went to the cottage door and opened it for the fifth time. Where was the old fool? He had questions.
A light breeze came off the sea and the mist had crept in, nearly enshrouding the tiny dwelling. Loutrant could barely see in front of him.
What could a slow-witted old man be doing for all this time?
Loutrant re-entered the cottage and slammed the door shut. He walked to the small fire he’d kept going all day and warmed his hands.
Soon he would get his ultimate revenge on Brian Fitzroy.
Loutrant turned toward the door when he heard the approach of footsteps. At last.
Robert came into the tiny cottage, carrying a heavy sack and some wood for the fire.
“Good evening, my lord,” he called out cheerfully.
“Where have you been?” Loutrant asked.
“Gathering herbs to help in your recovery,” Robert said. “And food. We must eat.”
“I am recovered. And ready to leave.” Loutrant eyed the bundle Robert placed on the small wooden table with disinterest.
“Leave?” The old man frowned. “Where would you go?”
An excellent question, and one Loutrant had been thinking about all day. Since they all thought him dead, they would not be seeking him out as a fugitive. But he was not certain how far he had drifted from his castle.
“Know you of a castle by the sea where a baron named Loutrant lives?” he asked Robert.
Robert glanced up from inspecting the contents of his sack.
“You do know of him,” Loutrant said.
Robert licked his lips nervously and nodded. “Aye, my lord, Baron Loutrant is dead, though.”
“Indeed? And how do you know of his death?”
Robert shook his head and closed up his bundle. “I do not know the details, sir. I only know it is said the king had him tried for treason but before the sentence could be carried out, the baron died.”
Loutrant barely suppressed his sneer. The king. He had a mind to seek his revenge on that insipid fool, too, but only when his true enemy had been dealt with.
“And what of Loutrant’s castle?” he asked.
“Oh.” Robert walked over to the hearth and used a stick to poke the fire back to roaring life. “It has been given to a man named Nicholas Fitzroy and his wife, Marion.”
Chapter Seven
“No!”
Constance sat up, awakened out of a deep sleep. A nightmare, actually.
She dragged in a breath, and with a shaky hand reached over and lit the single
Constance heard the sound of footsteps coming down the narrow hall toward the man’s cell. Owen returning to fetch her. She didn’t have much time.
“And then, a minstrel appeared at Fitzroy Castle,” Constance said in rush, trying to get her story out. “He sang of love and virtue and honor. All the things I dreamt of. He appeared as a blond angel, and I fell in love with him.”
The key rattled in the cell door. Owen flung the heavy wooden door wide.
“Come on, wench. Your time is up,” Owen snarled from the doorway.
Constance glanced over her shoulder at the guard, then quickly glanced back at the prisoner.
“I will return tomorrow with whatever I can bring you,” she vowed.
“Be careful,” he warned. “He is more dangerous than you even know.”
****
Autumn, England—By the Sea
He waited for Robert to return to his cottage. The old man left in the morning and it was nearly dark now.
Since then he’d done a great deal of thinking. He knew who he was now. His name was Finius Loutrant.
And with that certain knowledge of his identity came something else. Rage. And a burning all-powerful hatred for his enemy. Brian Fitzroy.
Loutrant recalled it all now. Fitzroy tricked him into falling from the tower window. All thought he fell to his death, but somehow he survived and was found by Robert.
The only reason he was spared from death, Loutrant decided, was so he could exact his revenge on Brian Fitzroy.
Loutrant went to the cottage door and opened it for the fifth time. Where was the old fool? He had questions.
A light breeze came off the sea and the mist had crept in, nearly enshrouding the tiny dwelling. Loutrant could barely see in front of him.
What could a slow-witted old man be doing for all this time?
Loutrant re-entered the cottage and slammed the door shut. He walked to the small fire he’d kept going all day and warmed his hands.
Soon he would get his ultimate revenge on Brian Fitzroy.
Loutrant turned toward the door when he heard the approach of footsteps. At last.
Robert came into the tiny cottage, carrying a heavy sack and some wood for the fire.
“Good evening, my lord,” he called out cheerfully.
“Where have you been?” Loutrant asked.
“Gathering herbs to help in your recovery,” Robert said. “And food. We must eat.”
“I am recovered. And ready to leave.” Loutrant eyed the bundle Robert placed on the small wooden table with disinterest.
“Leave?” The old man frowned. “Where would you go?”
An excellent question, and one Loutrant had been thinking about all day. Since they all thought him dead, they would not be seeking him out as a fugitive. But he was not certain how far he had drifted from his castle.
“Know you of a castle by the sea where a baron named Loutrant lives?” he asked Robert.
Robert glanced up from inspecting the contents of his sack.
“You do know of him,” Loutrant said.
Robert licked his lips nervously and nodded. “Aye, my lord, Baron Loutrant is dead, though.”
“Indeed? And how do you know of his death?”
Robert shook his head and closed up his bundle. “I do not know the details, sir. I only know it is said the king had him tried for treason but before the sentence could be carried out, the baron died.”
Loutrant barely suppressed his sneer. The king. He had a mind to seek his revenge on that insipid fool, too, but only when his true enemy had been dealt with.
“And what of Loutrant’s castle?” he asked.
“Oh.” Robert walked over to the hearth and used a stick to poke the fire back to roaring life. “It has been given to a man named Nicholas Fitzroy and his wife, Marion.”
Chapter Seven
“No!”
Constance sat up, awakened out of a deep sleep. A nightmare, actually.
She dragged in a breath, and with a shaky hand reached over and lit the single
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