Read Online The Two Torcs by Debbie Viguié - Free Book Online Page B

Longstride’s child, conceived before he sailed to the Holy Land? He pictured her before, long and lithe, no sign of having borne four children, and his mind tumbled further back.
    To warm summer days of his youth, and the difference in her after just one child. The subtle widening of her hips, the light crackle of stretch marks on her stomach, hidden in the crease of her hipbone, the fullness of her…
    “Why do your men always fail?”
    The question jerked him back to his present situation. His eyes focused on John as he leaned forward on the throne, staring. The Sheriff stood beside Glynna, his hand slid under her hair, black gauntlet-covered fingers just coming around the other side to splay against her throat, lying against her fair skin like the legs of some tremendous spider covering the artery there.
    Her eyes were closed and she leaned back against his touch. Her lips turned up in a sly, wicked smile.
    No…
    He blinked, wanting to shake himself, but refusing to show that much weakness.
    “Excuse me?” he said.
    King John stood. “I asked, why do your men always fail?” Raising the heavy scepter in his right hand, he gestured at the two bound men. The staff was a rod of hardwood, coated in gold. The top of it bore a fist-sized lump of gold that had been worked into the snarling head of a ravening wolf.
    A wolf with curling horns.
    “More to the point,” John continued, “are you in league with the Hood?”
    Locksley’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back.
    “You accuse me of treason?”
    “Treason, or incompetence,” John growled. “Which is it?”
    His skin grew hot under his clothes. “Neither.”
    “Then why is the Hood
always
taking the taxes that have been collected?”
    “He doesn’t,” Locksley protested. “We deliver most of…”
    The Sheriff’s voice cut him off.
    “Any delivery he attacks, he takes.”
    Locksley looked at the Sheriff. The man unnerved him.
    “Do you hire cowards for the job?” the Sheriff continued. “Men who lay down at the sight of a rogue and a bandit?” The man stared at him now, dark eyes glittering in the shadow of his brow.
    “My men always fight.” He stepped closer to the dais, closer to the two men bound there. He snapped his fingers. “You two, look up, let me see your faces.”
    Mercroft and the guardsman did as they were told. It took him a second to place the name of the guardsman. He was a young man, new to Locksley’s service. In fact, he was one of the men who lived on Longstride land.
Barkley? Benton?
    Bentley. The man’s name was Bentley. An ugly bruise cut across his throat, a wide line of mottled flesh. A dark line of dried blood bisected it, curving over his Adam’s apple and under his jawline, the mark left by a rough sinew bowstring.
    “See their injuries?” He gestured toward Bentley’s throat. “They fought.”
    The Sheriff snorted through his nose.
    “The fat one bears no injury.” Glynna’s voice was a purr as she stroked her face along the armored fingers at her jaw and cheek.
    Mercroft’s eyes went wide and he began to stammer, lips smacking and jowls shaking. “H-he struck me from b-behind! You can’t see it for my hair!”
    “So you were running away?” the Sheriff asked.
    “No, no, no, no… I was trying to stab him! I was!”
    “Then how was he behind you?” Sinister humor sparkled in the Sheriff’s eyes.
    Mercroft’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.
    Bentley’s head dropped to his chest. The soft sounds of his sobs came to Locksley’s ears.
    The Sheriff met eyes with King John, who still stood in front of the throne, scepter in hand. The Sheriff nodded once, a quick up and down of his head.
    Dread filled Locksley’s stomach.
    He leaned forward, a protest in the back of his teeth.
    King John took one step, drew back his scepter, and smashed it into Mercroft’s face.
    The heavy gold ram’s wolf sank into the space where Mercroft’s left eye met his nose, the bones of the man’s face folding like