Page 40 of Forgotten Secrets (Secrets of the Heart 4)

“Bedivere, don’t,” warned Percival in concern.

“That’s right,” said Whitmore. “Unless you’ve forgotten, I still hold your mother captive. And if anything happens to me, I have given my men orders to kill your mother and to hunt you down as well.”

“Let him go,” begged Percival.

Bedivere’s blood boiled and he wanted to kill Whitmore more than he ever had before. It was this man who had made his life a living hell. It was he who killed his father and imprisoned his family. Aye, Lord John Whitmore was a man who Bedivere hated with every fiber of his being.

“Damn you!” he growled, releasing Whitmore with a push. “Why are you even here? It’s much too risky.”

“Especially with the daughter of one of the Legendary Bastards of the Crown in your bed. Now I understand why you refused your orders.” Whitmore walked over to the table and inspected the bottle for leftover wine.

“We had a deal. One for one,” Bedivere reminded him. “I am not, and will not take on all three of the bastards.”

“They are conspiring to kill King Richard.” Whitmore put down the empty wine bottle and ran his finger over the rim. “They have to go.”

“Then do it yourself.”

“You owe me one last job!”

Bedivere’s head snapped up because Whitmore made it sound as if he owed only him. “Don’t you mean I owe you and the king both?”

“Aye, that’s what I meant.”

“So be it. I’ll give you one more, but one only. And it won’t be those three.”

“Nay, it won’t.”

Bedivere turned back toward him, curious as to what he meant. “How so?”

“You don’t have to worry about taking out all three. I’ve already given the order to two other trained killers who will handle that.”

“Who? Who did you send to do your dirty work? I want to know.” Bedivere’s hands balled up into fists.

Whitmore chuckled. “Now, now, Bedivere. You know it doesn’t work that way. Their identities will remain anonymous. Only I know who they are. All you have to worry about is the last one.”

“Last one? What do you mean?”

“Your mark. The girl’s father.”

Upon hearing this, Bedivere’s teeth gnashed together so hard that he felt the tension in his jaw. “Don’t do this to me,” he said. “Haven’t I gone through enough already?”

“It’s for the crown,” said Whitmore, heading toward the door. “Would you question your orders from your king?”

“Nay. Of course not,” Bedivere mumbled. “But there must be another way.”

“You will do as you’re told, or you’ll never see your mother again.” Whitmore stopped with his hand on the door latch. “Oh, and don’t even think of warning the bastard triplets because if you do, that wench that warmed your bed will die.”

“You son of a jackal!” spat Bedivere. “You harm a hair on Morag’s head and I will personally make you pay.”

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” warned the man. “And also don’t forget who holds the life of your mother on a very delicate thread.” He chuckled again and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Damn you!” cried Bedivere, picking up the wine bottle and hurling it at the door. It smashed against the wood and fell to the floor.

“Brother, what are you going to do?” asked Percival.

“Me? You mean we.” Bedivere paced back and forth.

“Oh no. Not me. I am not going to kill anyone.”

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