Wild and Wicked by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

is of no inconvenience.”
    “Because they wished to, not because they were forced.”
    In Miranda’s strong arms, Bronwyn sighed dreamily, her little lips parting. Devlynn’s heart wrenched. Where was his son? Was he injured? Alive or . . . nay, Devlynn cut his dark thoughts short. He would not think the worst. Could not.
    “You suspect your guests? Your friends? And your own family? Me? Aunt Violet? ”
    “Everyone.” His voice was as cold as all of winter as he hurried down the rest of the stairs. Ignoring his guests, he cut through a long corridor and headed for the stables. He would find his son.
    If Yale was alive.
     
    Payton was gone. One minute, he’d been ahead of her, carrying the boy and stealing through the shadows, the next, as they’d rounded a hayrick, he’d disappeared. Along with the soldiers who had been with them.
    She glanced around the inner bailey, her gaze scraping quickly over the huts therein. The smith’s forge glowed red and there were candles in a few other out-buildings, but she saw no sign of her brother.
    Originally, the plan was to meet the rest of their small band at the stables, where they intended to steal the horses. Now, as she crept through the dark grass, silently praying that the kennel dogs wouldn’t put up a ruckus or that she might run into a sentry, she realized that this plan was fated to fail. And it had been changed. Perhaps Payton had intended to leave her all along, she thought, for he had always been an ambitious sort, a man who’d walked through life burdened by the knowledge that he was a bastard, the son of a man who had raped their mother, a constant reminder of the shame their mother had borne.
    At the hands of Morgan of Black Thorn, Devlynn’s father.
    The stakes were high for Payton this night and yet she didn’t believe that he would abandon her to the dungeons of Black Thorn. But then what did she know of Payton and his motives? He stole the boy and the sting on her cheek was a reminder of his ruthlessness.
    She started for the stables when she heard the first alarm—a bell clanging wildly, accompanied by the sharp shouts of soldiers. Oh, for the love of St. Jude, they’d been found out already! With little thought to the consequences she ran across the bailey to the stables. Horses neighed nervously, their hooves shuffling in the straw.
    She slipped through the doorway and stumbled over a man lying just over the threshold. He was gasping for breath and one hand reached upward. “Help me,” he said, his lungs rattling horridly. “Please, lad . . .” He struggled and she saw the dark stain on his shirt, the hilt of a dagger—her dagger—rising from his chest.
    “Lie back,” she ordered and pulled the weapon from his flesh. It slid out with a horrid sucking sound and the blood flowed fast. “We have to bind the wound,” she said and knew she could not let this man die. “Help! There’s a man injured!” she cried, yelling through the doorway. “Help me—”
    A soldier appeared. “For the love of God, what happened?” Some of the horses started squealing, as if the stench of blood had them panicked.
    “Take this man to the physician. He needs his wound bound.”
    The sentry didn’t so much as cast her a second glance when he spied the bleeding man. “Who did this to you?” he demanded as he bent on one knee and touched the stableman’s shoulder. “Seth, who?”
    “I know not. A stranger—two strangers. They met up with some others and they . . . they had the lad, Yale, with them . . . they took the lord’s stallion . . .
    they . . . ooooohhh. Tell my wife . . . tell her . . .” His voice faded and his eyes grew glassy in the growing light.
    “He needs help, not questions,” Apryll insisted, pocketing the bloody knife as the smell of smoke reached her nostrils and she heard the menacing crackles of flames. Horses were screaming in terror now and she saw a small fire racing through the straw. “Oh, God.”
    “Fire!” the