Free Wild and Wicked by Lisa Jackson Page A

be done. Payton’s accusation stung far more painfully than the cut on her face, for his words rang true. Now the devil of Black Thorn was after these men, the tattered band of Serennog’s finest and bravest soldiers turned thieves and kidnappers. Most of them had wives, two had young daughters, and yet they had risked their lives on this fool’s mission. For Serennog.
    If they were caught they would surely all be hanged or drawn and quartered.
    Through the forest they careened, hoofs pounding as they raced away from Black Thorn. Apryll’s stomach clenched. Oh, it was a foolish, foolish plan and they would all surely be killed. Everyone at Serennog would be taken prisoner. Mayhap tortured. Forced into servitude.
    Because of you, Apryll, and you are their sworn protector.
    Rose, the seamstress with her sparkling eyes and bawdy jokes, the skinny cook, Wynne, who could stretch one goose to serve twenty, little Millie, the laundress, and oh, so many others would face the gallows or bondage to a baron who detested them. Some of the women would be turned into whores to service the soldiers . . . all because Apryll had been weak and trusting.
    “Lord help me. Help us all,” she whispered as they crested a knoll and the rutted road split. As planned three groups of riders followed differing courses. Payton headed due west upon his gray destrier—again just as planned, though Apryll lagged behind. She and he had agreed to take the longer route to Serennog while Bernard and Samuel, dragging extra horses, turned east and the others, Roger, Issac and Melvynn, kept to the northbound path, the direct route over the mountains to Serennog. When they reached the ridge, they were to light torches to lure Devlynn’s soldiers away from their true meeting spot, an abandoned inn, west of Serennog.
    Oh, this was madness! Heart drumming at counterpoint to the thunder of her mount’s hoofbeats, she chased after the gray on the rutted cart path. Would the beast of Black Thorn be duped so easily?
    She remembered staring into his eyes, recognizing a deep, guarded intelligence in those gray orbs.
    Far in the distance, she heard the baying of dogs. Trained hunters upon the scent. Closing the distance. By the gods, they were doomed.
     
    Devlynn rode as if Satan were chasing him. With dogs in the lead, his band of soldiers following, he drove the poor horse beneath him mercilessly. The hounds were on the scent. He’d let them sniff Yale’s clothes and the curs had circled and yipped until they had been unleashed, then they’d taken off, on the road leading north.
    To Serennog.
    Through the fields and into the woods, faster and faster. Time was his enemy. The longer he was separated from Yale, the more likely the boy would suffer. He thought of how easily he’d been seduced by the woman and how quickly she’d betrayed him. Teeth gnashing, he spurred his mount as the beast stumbled through a creek, sliding on the slippery rocks before scrambling up the far bank and shooting into the woods.
    Down the road, faster and faster, until he came upon the dogs barking and shifting at a junction where the road splintered into three directions. He pulled up, his horse sweating and lathered, the breath from his hot lungs fogging the air. The lead dog headed north toward Serennog, but that seemed too easy. The smart bitch chose the western bend, and a few others were sniffing and barking toward the east.
    Devlynn hopped lithely to the ground and, with only moonlight for illumination, studied the tracks as the rest of his small army reached him.
    “Which way?” Rudyard asked.
    “North,” Devlynn said with more certainty than he felt. Could he be leading his men into a trap? Would the enemy have gathered, joining forces with more of their own, hiding and ready to strike when Devlynn and his troops reached a certain point on this lonely stretch of road? Should he send a spy ahead to report back? Nay, he had not the time.
    Angrily, he kicked at a pebble in