Page 33 of Liberating the Lady of Loughmoe (The Ladies of the Keep #1)

T he plan came together with surprising speed. By the time Jillian’s head touched the pillow on their bed, Garrick and Patrick headed up the small band of warriors who rode out in search of justice.

After a heated debate, it was decided MacInness’s injuries were too noticeable, and their plan called for swift action. If Owen had a clue as to the truth of what happened earlier that day, their plan would fail.

Though MacInness argued admirably, for once he was outnumbered. Even his crew of Irish mercenaries voted that he should be left behind to guard the lady of the keep.

The band of warriors riding to Sedgeworth’s gate were of the same mind; all were calm, it would be necessary if they were to succeed.

Pulling up on the reins of his destrier, Garrick called in a voice that rang out clear and strong. “I’ve come on urgent private business with Owen.” He ignored the burning in his stomach that had taken up residence there the moment he laid eyes on his blood-covered unconscious wife.

He had thought them both dead. Shaking himself free of the gruesome memory, he focused on the task at hand. They had a liar to flush out. Once that was accomplished, they would make him talk. Garrick smiled inwardly, knowing he would enjoy applying torture if necessary.

He dismounted stiffly, the strain of keeping his simmering temper in check difficult. He handed the reins to the stable lad, willing his hands to steady themselves. He would not think of his wife, or the gash that ran from the top of her shoulder down along the back of her arm to her elbow. Though he knew Owen had not wielded the broadsword that had laid open her tender flesh, ultimately, he was responsible. And he would pay.

Focusing his energy and anger on convincing the lord of Sedgeworth that he did not suspect him of the near fatal ambush, Garrick followed along behind Owen. Once they gained the hall, he and his men were offered a mug of honeyed wine.

When everyone seemed relaxed and at ease, he decided ’twas time to put the second part of his plan into action.

“There was trouble near the edge of the clearing to the south of my land earlier today.” Garrick watched his host closely.

“Trouble?” Owen cleared his throat loudly. “What sort?”

Garrick looked to Patrick; the warrior’s face was etched in stone, giving away nothing. He knew the pain the man suffered, he had seen the raw emotion on the man’s face when he caught Jillian in his arms as she slid from her horse. He would remember always the look in Patrick’s eyes when he carried MacInness inside the keep. Though he had never had a friend like that before, he could not help but feel the emotion that tied the two men together.

“We came upon what looked like the remains of an ambush,” Garrick told him.

“Remains?” Owen asked, his gaze was dark and deadly.

“Aye.” Garrick almost smiled as he drew out the telling of his false tale. “Six knights had been brutally slain and left to rot.”

“Six?”

“Aye.” He nodded slowly. Garrick felt a warmth surge up within him; he had Owen’s undivided attention.

“No survivors?”

“None.” Though he was dying to push Owen to confess, he wanted the man to trap himself.

“Did they wear colors?”

Owen’s question convinced him beyond a shadow of a doubt in Garrick’s mind. No other group of Saxon knights wore like colors—none save Owen’s band of cutthroats—but he played innocent of any such knowledge.

“Colors?”

Owen hesitated for a heartbeat. During that moment, Garrick saw him clearly for the first time. Right through to the man’s black, pockmarked soul.

“’Tis something I had seen of late, just a thought…” Owen’s voice trailed off to a harsh whisper.

Patrick rose and walked over to stand at Garrick’s side. Garrick noticed his agitation, but shook his head hoping to silence the Irishman. Patrick seemed to rein himself in. When Garrick glanced around at the faces of the men flanking him, he knew he had the best of the best. Through some quirk of fate, his wife had brought an elite fighting force with her to Merewood. The men were loyal to the last, but it was their kinship surrounding him, standing there in their enemy’s hall that mattered. Their combined strength flowed over him, filling him.

“My thanks for the wine. You had best have a care and remember what happened at Merewood. If you are not careful, one of your family might ride out and befall the same fate as those knights.” Garrick paused, rubbing a hand across his chin, he added, “I’ll not let my lady wife leave the walls of Merewood until we capture the person, or persons, behind this foul deed and punish them as befits their crime.”

He had the satisfaction of watching Owen’s face lose all color. His threat had found its mark. Owen was responsible, and now Owen knew Garrick would not rest until justice was served.