Page 73 of Forgotten Secrets (Secrets of the Heart 4)

“Aye, your father, Sir Gilbert Hamilton, was much too revered by Richard. He was also after my position as advisor to the king. If he had told Richard my plans, he would be the new advisor and I would have not only been removed, but most likely imprisoned and eventually killed. So you see, I couldn’t allow him to do that.”

“So you made up the false charge that he was plotting against Richard.”

“Aye, and it worked like a charm. But you were too much a devoted son and gave me trouble. That’s why I decided to take you as well as your family into custody for added insurance.”

“You are naught but a spawn of the devil!” shouted Bedivere. Morag saw his face become red and anger glaring in his eyes. “You killed my father, an innocent man, and put my family, even the children through a living hell.”

“Aye. And if you hadn’t brought your family to Rothbury, they would be back in the dungeon right now and you would be working for me for the rest of your life.”

“That, I promise you, will never happen.”

“Mayhap not, but if you ever want to see your mother as well as your lover alive again, you’ll keep quiet and continue doing my bidding.”

“Nay, he won’t, because we’ve just heard enough to put you behind bars forever, Whitmore.” Rowen stepped out from behind a tree, and Rook and Reed made their presence known as well.

“You knew we were on to you and that is why you wanted Bedivere to kill us, isn’t that right?” asked Rook, coming closer. Each of the men held their swords out, ready to fight.

“It would have worked, too, if Bedivere hadn’t stopped my assassins from killing you.” Whitmore’s arm tightened around Morag as he suddenly became very nervous.

“Wait. What?” asked Rook. “Bedivere saved our lives?”

“That’s right,” said Bedivere. “Rook, I took out the assassin that was planning on killing you during the joust and impersonated him on the field. I then pretended to be injured by the lance when, in fact, it was from the assassin’s blade.”

“I’m willing to bet that healer was an assassin as well,” said Rowen. “He certainly didn’t seem to know a thing about herbs or ointments.”

“He tried to poison you,” Bedivere told him. “So I took care of him as well.”

“Impressive.” Rowen and Rook nodded at each other.

“Enough talk! Ye have my daughter and I’ll no’ wait a minute longer.” When Reed rushed forward, Morag reached upward. Even with her hands tied together, she managed to push the blade away from her throat.

“You fool! He could have killed her,” shouted Bedivere as Whitmore turned the horse and took off at a run for the gate. Morag bounced up and down as they rode, managing to reach up and yank the gag from her mouth.

As they left the garden, Branton stepped out with his sword drawn, startling the horse. Whitmore’s steed reared up, and Morag grabbed on to the animal’s mane to keep from being thrown.

“Morag, hold on, I’m coming!” shouted Bedivere as Whitmore directed the horse away from the garden at a run. She heard the thundering hooves of a horse from behind them, and looked back to see Bedivere atop his horse in fast pursuit.

“If I’m going to die, then I’m taking you with me,” Whitmore said in her ear. As they rode, he pressed his blade once again against her throat, and this time she felt the sting of the sharp metal and the blood trickling down her neck. She reached up, struggling with Whitmore, trying to keep away from his blade. Bedivere rode up next to them as they shot through the forest at high speed.

“Jump!” Bedivere called to her, holding his sword and reins in one hand and reaching out for her.

“Jump?” Morag eyed the trees whizzing past them so fast that it made her head spin. Too frightened to do it, she froze in fear. “I canna.”

“Trust me,” he shouted. “I’ll catch you. Jump now, before it’s too late.”

Suddenly hearing Mazelina’s voice in her head telling her to be brave and to do something to make a difference in the world, Morag realized she had to try. Then, with her hands still tied in front of her, and the horses running faster than she could imagine, she focused on Bedivere and not the ground speeding by as she took a leap of faith.

Morag flung her body toward Bedivere and his arm shot out and clasped around her wrist as she landed hard on her stomach atop his lap.

“I’ve got you, Morag,” he said, still in pursuit of Whitmore. He helped her up to a sitting position, pulling a dagger from his belt and swiping at the ropes that bound her hands. “Hold on to the horse’s mane,” he instructed. “And don’t watch what I’m about to do because this isn’t going to be pretty.”

She was about to ask him what he meant, when Bedivere rode up next to Whitmore and, with one blow of his sword, decapitated the man. Morag, being too curious as always and never any good at following instructions, had watched and now she wished that she hadn’t.

Turning her head, she vomited over the side of the horse.

As soon as Bedivere stopped the horse, her father, uncles, and Branton rode up.

“Thank God ye killed him,” said Reed, hopping off his horse and inspecting Whitmore’s body. “If ye hadna done it, I would have. Morag, are ye all right?”

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