Page 86 of Desire's Ransom
Chapter 23
“Shite,” Temair said again. The possibility that Ryland’s men had crossed him had never occurred to her.
“And if they took the coin,” Ryland said woodenly, “then they may already be on their way back to England.”
“Shite!”
Enraged, Temair punched the cave wall with her free fist, wincing as she bruised her knuckles.
“My own men,” Ryland said, stunned. “How could they? I trusted them. Damn it, Itrustedthem.”
Bloody bastards! Most English knights she’d met seemed chivalrous to a fault—fond of their fealty oaths, their sworn honor, and their brotherhood. She expected they’d die before they’d stab a fellow in the back.
Apparently that wasn’t true. Apparently Ryland’s men were traitors.
It made perfect sense that they’d escaped with the ransom. That much coin would make a generous prize, split between the four of them. And they could be certain Ryland would never be able to exact revenge upon them, for without the ransom, he’d remain a captive of the woodkerns.
Abarta’s ballocks! Her dreams of reclaiming her land shattered like thin ice. She’d counted on that coin to finance the battle for her legacy. To have it stolen—and by foreigners, no less—was a travesty.
Now her only leverage was holding on to Ryland de Ware. Still, once Cormac learned both his bridegroom and his ransom had gone missing, he’d pursue their return with a vengeance. He held a grudge like no other, and his vindictive doggedness knew no bounds. Indeed, it wouldn’t surprise her if the chieftain set the whole bloody forest afire to flush out the prospective groom.
She ground her teeth, enraged and frustrated by the way her vicious father always seemed to be able to seize the upper hand.
Yet at the same time, she felt sorry for Sir Ryland. The forthright, noble knight hadn’t invited any of this. He’d done nothing to earn such disloyalty. His only failing seemed to be trusting in men he shouldn’t.
He’d believed King John when he’d said there was an heiress waiting to be his wife.
He’d believed Cormac O’Keeffe when he’d said Ryland’s bride was lost in the forest.
He’d believed his men when they said they would ransom him.
But, without mercy and without remorse, they’d all betrayed him.
Temair thought he deserved better than that. She’d met enough dishonorable nobles in her outlaw pursuits to tell that Sir Ryland was a rare gentleman with an honest heart.
She decided that she, at least, wouldn’t join the ranks of those willing to stab him in the back. She lowered her blade and stepped away.
In the dim light, she could see him lift a hand to check his throat. He’d find nothing. She’d been careful not to injure him. She might be unyielding, but she wasn’t cruel.
“I’m sorry I doubted ye,” she murmured, sheathing her dagger.
“’Tisn’t your fault,” he said, hanging his head. “I would have done the same.”
He sounded so despondent, so disappointed. He probably realized that she couldn’t let him go now. And that meant that he’d not only lost his men. He’d also lost his bride.
She tucked her lip under her teeth. Maybe she could ease at least part of his pain on that score.
“There’s somethin’ ye should know,” she said. There was a long silence as she mustered the courage to tell him.
Finally, he prompted her. “Aye?”
She swallowed and braced herself for his reply. “Ye never truly had a bride.”
He froze. “What do you mean?”
She furrowed her brow, unsure how much she should reveal. “I mean, Temair hasn’t been seen in thetuathsince the night her sister died.”
“So I’ve heard.” He shook his head. “Are the rumors true then—that she’s been kept…in chains…locked in a cell?”
