Page 91 of The Unwilling Bride
Regardless of Ranulf’s presence, Constance threw back the covers and started to get out of bed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ranulf demanded, too shocked to be polite.
“We must go to Tintagel at once.” She had to see her husband as soon as possible, and not just to tell him what Henry had learned. She had to know what Merrick meant when he’d told her that he’d lied and he would release her from their marriage.
“The moment I got Henry’s message, I sent a warning to Merrick of the plot against you.”
Constance wasn’t comforted. “You obviously don’t know my uncle. If the messenger has reached Tintagel safely, if he gets the message to Merrick, my uncle is still clever enough to have the earl believing Merrick is the real conspirator, planning treason against the king. Or he’ll throw the blame onto Lord Algernon entirely. We must go to Tintagel. Where’s Henry now?”
“I have no idea. He told me only that he would try to get you to the monastery. He didn’t say what he planned to do after that.”
“Then we’ll pray he’s safe and find him later.”
A BUCKET OF ICE-COLD WATER landed on Henry, soaking his soiled, torn clothing and the dank straw upon which he lay. Coughing and spluttering through bruised and cut lips, he cried out as other pain assailed him when he moved—from his ribs, his wrists enclosed in iron fetters, his legs in chains…
Somebody kicked his ankle, hard. “Wake up, you lump of dung.”
He opened his swollen eyelids as best he could, to see Merrick glaring at him like an avenging angel in the flickering light of a torch, his drawn sword clutched in his other hand.
Merrick, who’d ridden him down like a stag and cornered him. Who’d ferociously attacked and wouldn’t listen as he tried to explain—
Merrick kicked him again. “I know you’re awake.”
Holding his side, Henry tried to stand.
Merrick shoved him down to a kneeling position. “You have no right to stand before me, you traitorous dog.”
“You don’t understand—”
“The hell I don’t! I saw you with my own eyes try to steal my wife.”
“No,” Henry protested, his voice hoarse with thirst and pain.
Once more Merrick struck him with his booted foot. “Liar! Base, vile liar! Dishonorable viper!” He bent over, so that his accusing, glaring eyes were looking directly into Henry’s. “There is nothing you could have done that would make me hate you more.”
“I swear—”
“What, you would make another oath?” Merrick replied scornfully as he straightened. “What happened to the one you already swore, that you would be my loyal brother to the death?”
“I’ve kept—”
“By lusting after my wife? By trying to kidnap her?” Merrick brought the tip of his sword to rest just under Henry’s left eye. “Death is too good for a man like you.”
“Listen to me!” Henry pleaded, desperation lending him strength. “I was trying to save her.”
“From what?” Merrick demanded. “Me?”
“Lord Carrell,” Henry replied, gasping with the effort. “And Lord Algernon. They planned the attack, not me.”
The tip of the sword bit into Henry’s skin. “Is there no end to your wickedness that you’d accuse our own relatives?”
“It’s true,” Henry insisted. “And Lord Carrell and Lord Algernon are not just your enemies—they’re plotting against the king, too. I have proof, letters Carrell was sending north to other traitors.”
“How did you come upon these incriminating letters?” Merrick sneered. “Did Lord Carrell ask you to deliver them?”
“No—he had other work for me to do.” Henry pressed on before Merrick spoke again. “He heard we’d quarreled and he sought me out. He offered me a place in his service. I felt in my bones there was more to it, that he wasn’t to be trusted, and he soon proved me right. He all but offered me Constance if I would serve him.”
“Liar!”
