DeliveredIntoHisHands Read Online Free PDF Page A

wall
but all around him was solid stone and the petrified wood columns of Castle
Blackthorn. By the time he reached the armory, he had worked himself into such
a state his vision was tinged with red.
    Moonlight flitted through the arrow loops
and a light breeze wafted through. The air was turning chill for it was almost
October.
    The sound of hammers striking iron hurried
his footsteps. He needed to speak to the smithy who had crafted the iron bands
that had been used on the Modarthan. That the bands had not been welded closed
infuriated Alyx. It should have been impossible for anyone to simply pry the
bands apart as Arbra had. His only consolation was in knowing the removal of
the bands had caused the Crimson Lord immense pain.
    Entering the smithy’s shop, Alyx motioned
for the burly giant to come to him. Long leather apron slapping against his
legs, the blacksmith hurried over.
    “What happened?” Alyx demanded in a low
voice. He cast his gaze about for prying eyes and ill-timed ears. “Why were the
bands not fired to his flesh?”
    “We were interrupted before we could finish
the job, Your Grace,” the smithy said. “A patrol passed close by us. We held
our breaths hoping they wouldn’t find him before the Sun rose.” The smithy
bowed his head. “I am deeply aggrieved he did not die as you planned.”
    “And because he did not,” Alyx said through
gritted teeth, “he has further caused me trouble.”
    “I heard,” the smithy said. He looked up.
“Tell me what I can do to remedy this.”
    Alyx started pacing, confident there was no
one to overhear. “We will need to bide our time for now but I’ve a plan to rid
ourselves of him and the Modarthan yoke that is ever tightening around our
necks.”
    “Give me leave and I will take his head,”
the smithy said. “I swear my loyalty to you and the cause, Prince—”
    “Shush!” Alyx hissed. “Never, never call me
that!”
    * * * * *
    “An alliance between the house of
Blackthorn and Warwyck,” Lady Maripose told her husband the next morning,
“would be most beneficial.”
    They were taking their daily constitution
upon the battlements, looking out over the hundreds of acres upon which Castle
Blackthorn sat. Her arm was laced with his, a parasol in her other hand to
shield her from the harsh sunlight.
    “Except for one thing, milady,” the baron
said. “We will soon be at war with Modartha.”
    “Straddling both sides of the fence could
be advantageous, don’t you agree?” his wife queried. “We would have a foot in
each camp and no matter the victor, we would be protected.”
    “True,” he said, tapping his thumbnail
against his front teeth as was his habit. “And I really don’t have any options
considering Antonia’s attraction to the warrior. Curse that goddess-be-damned
prophecy.”
    “The added advantage being the warrior is
also the much loved bastard son of the Modarthan king,” Lady Maripose pointed
out.
    “There is that,” the baron agreed with a
grunt.
    “It is—as the Serenians say—a win-win
situation,” she stated. “But…”
    “But?” her husband countered.
    “He will need to take up residence here and
not take our daughter to Modartha. Having him here would serve two purposes. We
would not lose our daughter to that barbaric horde and he would be where we
could watch him.”
    “Where Alyxdair can watch him you mean,”
the baron corrected with a smile.
    “Have you put him in charge of finding out
who staked the warrior?”
    “I did, although he did not seem all that
eager to do so,” her husband replied. “Already he has taken a very strong
dislike to the Modarthan.”
    Lady Maripose shrugged. “I feel sorry for
the lad. His hatred for all things Modarthan was bad enough before now. If
Antonia weds the warrior—”
    “She will,” the baron said. “Whether it is
to our liking or not.”
    “Well, I—for one—am pleased with the match
for the reason I stated before.”
    “Then why say ‘if’?” her