Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment Read Online Free PDF Page A

“My good man, I respect your anger. But I am in charge here. Stand back.”
    Expecting Gareth to immediately comply, which he did, Wulfson turned his attention back to Rangor. In a slow slide, he dismounted, and with both swords in hand he strode toward the haughty noble. Aye, Rangor stood tall and erect. Arrogant. His pale eyes showed barely a hint of fear, but Wulfson did not need to see it in a man’s eyes—he could smell it. Like the great furry beasts who wandered the island using their senses to field their prey, their enemies, and their mates, Wulfson’s instincts were highly honed. Rangor was a man with secrets. And he was afraid.
    “Where is Lady Tarian?”
    “As I have already told you, she is dead.”
    “The body you tossed over the rampart is not that of the lady. Do you have another for me to peruse?”
    “Nay. There is no body,” Rangor admitted.
    “She lives! I swear it, I would know of her death!” Gareth cried out unable to contain himself. Rangor smiled a slow sadistic smile and coolly regarded the captain of her guard.
    “Aye, you would. ’Tis immoral, your lust for her. Had she lived, in nine months’ time we would no doubt seeproof she was not worthy of the title she bore. For I would wager every hide of land I own the wench would spill a blond giant of a child,” Rangor sneered.
    “How did the lady perish?” Wulfson demanded.
    Rangor focused those inhuman pale eyes back on Wulfson. “She succumbed to a wound she sustained when she killed my nephew. Her body was returned to her guardian Lord Alewith in Turnsly.”
    “’Tis a lie,” Gareth hissed.
    “ Why did you lie?” Wulfson softly questioned, not wavering from the knowledge he knew in his gut—as did Gareth—that the lady lived.
    Pale blue eyes lifted to the ceiling, then darted left, then right, before returning to Wulfson. “I—I feared my liege would not believe the truth.”
    “’Tis not he you should fear, my lord, but me. I come in his name. He gives me the right to not only speak on his behalf but to act.” He stepped a foot closer and pressed both sword tips to Rangor’s chest. “And I deplore a lie. ’Tis akin to treason. Do you know how William deals with traitors?”
    Slowly Rangor shook his head. Wulfson noticed the sheen of sweat that glossed his brow. Whilst it was a warm day, moisture hanging over them like a wet blanket, it was cool inside the great fortress.
    If looks could have sliced Wulfson in twain, he would have fallen in two even sections to the stone floor, so sharp was Rangor’s gaze. “I do not wish to cause my king or his man undue distress, but before we continue this dance, Sir Wulfson, let me remind you, as you are the king’s guard: my cousin Rhiwallon and his half brother Bleddyn areWelsh kings in their own right. Both are very protective of their kin.”
    Wulfson smiled and moved closer, the sword tips digging deeper still into Rangor’s rich clothing. “Tell your Welsh kings I welcome them in the name of King William to pledge their loyalty. The sooner the better.”
    Rangor gasped. “Do you beg for a fight?”
    “Nay, I speak only the truth. You will find, milord, that I am a man of few words but quick action. I do not play the coy word games you nobles seem to be so fond of. I call a sheep a sheep: whether black or white, it is still a sheep. Now, tell me where I may find Lady Tarian.”
    Rangor set his jaw, but Wulfson read reluctant resignation there. Rangor would find it in his best interest not to make an enemy of the king’s guard. Wulfson nodded, lowered his swords, and inclined his head toward Rangor. “I would have the keys on your belt, sir.”
    Ioan, Rorick, and Rhys stepped forward. Instinctively the noble grabbed the keys in his fists, but sense quickly reigned over his impulse. He maneuvered the large circle from the leather-and-chain belt and handed them to Wulfson. “She is below in the dungeon, by now no doubt only a carcass for the rats to feed