Free Wild and Wicked by Lisa Jackson Page B

the path and sent it reeling into the bole of a nearby oak. Thunk. “We’ll split up,” he decided.
    “Is this not what the enemy expects, m’lord?” Rudyard dismounted to join him. “Divide and conquer?”
    “To what end?”
    “Mayhap they have stolen the boy only as a means to lure you from the castle. Whoever is behind this might not be after your son but has used him to capture or kill you.”
    “So be it,” Devlynn said furiously as the wind rustled through the few dead leaves hanging on brittle branches. “Better me than my son.”
    “Better yet neither.”
    Other huntsmen and soldiers dismounted to study the roadway in the pale moonlight. “The horses’ tracks, they go north,” Kirby, the rotund archer, insisted, his eyes reading the frozen roadway.
    “Aye, there are others leading to the east.” Spencer frowned and tugged on his short beard. “And west, as well. ’Tis too dark to be certain. With all the travel for the revels, all the carts, wagons and horses, ’tis hard to tell.”
    “We’ll split up,” Devlynn decided.
    He knew in his gut that whatever cur was loyal to Apryll of Serennog would ride straight to Serennog, to seek cover behind the grate of the portcullis and thick walls of the castle. So be it.
    “M’lord!” One of the soldiers had reined his mount and was looking westward along the ridge. “I see firelight, nay . . . moving fires . . . torches.”
    “Aye, I see them as well,” another soldier called.
    Devlynn squinted and saw, far in the distance, the lights winking through the bare branches.
    “’Tis the army.” Rudyard was certain. “Leading north. The shortest route to Serennog, over the mountains.”
    “Why would they risk torches?” Devlynn thought aloud, the gears in his mind grinding. “’Tis a lure—a trap.”
    “Unless the traitors thought there was enough distance, that we would not ride until morn because of the fire. Mayhap they think they are safe and cannot be seen yet cannot risk resting. It could be that they must use the torches to illuminate their path,” a soldier suggested.
    “Aye,” Rudyard agreed. “The cliffs upon the ridge are treacherous and they cannot see the path to travel safely. Yet they dare not rest. Mayhap they would rather risk being noticed than take a chance on being caught.”
    “Or tumbling down the mountainside,” another soldier said.
    Devlynn wasn’t convinced. He looked at the dogs circling anxiously. The lead dog had never failed him, though usually the bitch was a tracker as well. She was whining, half running down the fork leading west, then returning to whine and bark loudly. Aye, she had the scent of something. Yale? Or was she as confused as these men—his best soldiers? Leaning down, he touched the earth with his gloved fingers as if in touching the soil he could divine which direction to follow.
    “We split up,” he said, watching the bitch whine and circle, then head off to the west yet again. Standing, he dusted his hands. “I’ll head west. Six men will travel with me. You, Rudyard, and six others, follow the torches north.” Straightening, he motioned to Sir Benson. “You take the rest of the men and head east. We ride all night and through the morrow.” His eyes narrowed against the cold wind. “If we’ve not found Yale by that time, we shall all meet at the gates of Serennog. Each party will send a messenger back to Collin at Black Thorn with a report and requesting more troops, supplies, the battering ram and catapults to be sent to Serennog.”
    “Would we not be stronger as one force?” Rudyard asked.
    “Stronger, aye, and slower. Now, be off with you and find my boy!” Devlynn swung onto the back of the horse he’d claimed. His fingers wrapped around the reins. There was no wall high enough that he would not scale it to save his son; there was no gate strong enough to keep him from rescuing Yale.
    It mattered not who got in his way. He kicked his mount and rode west. He should have