Chapter Twenty-Eight

R ed could tolerate the cold and rain, but being restrained and rendered incapable of protecting Galiena from The Executioner was making him feel as powerless and violent as a baited bear. His shoulders were burning despite wrapping his hands around the chains to carry some of the weight of his body.

The storm had passed, and the night was now still, but a dampness still hung in the air. The castle yard was dark and nearly empty, save for a few guards and Wolf. Hawk's soldiers were as loyal to each other as they were to their liege, and he was grateful that at least one of them was standing watch over him. He had to admit that if The Executioner should decide to slit his throat while he was in this position, he was helpless to stop him. Wolf's presence during the dark hours of the night was reassuring that he stood half a chance of surviving to the morrow.

He knew it was just a matter of time before The Executioner sought him out to finish the job he'd failed to complete twenty years ago, and it was only fitting that it would be during the coldest hour of the night. His first clue that a meeting was imminent was when the guard on duty was relieved by the captain, the same man who had given The Executioner the translated missive.

His current guard had started his shift only a short time prior and had been dozing as he sat on a wooden stool, leaning against the cold, stone wall, his head tipped back, and his chin tilted skyward. Wolf had found an old plank of wood that he'd thrown on the ground to sit on with his back to the hard wall a short distance away.

"Before you take to your bed, show that one to the gate," Boris said to the leaving guard, hitching a thumb in the direction of Wolf.

Fuck.

Wolf did not go willingly. It took both Boris and another guard to expel him from the castle yard as he yelled and scuffled with them the entire way. The disruption drew the attention of the guards on the wall, though most of them returned to their posts once the excitement was over. Red noticed one of the guards on the wall lingering in the shadows of a tower. Another of The Executioner's miscreants, no doubt, on the lookout for unwanted witnesses.

"What was your price to conspire against your king?" Red asked in as bored a drawl as he could muster when Boris perched himself on the stool near the wall, his sword still unsheathed.

Boris's back was stiff, but he said nothing in reply. He stared straight ahead as if he hadn't heard Red's comment. Red continued, "Or is it that you will pay with your life if you don't follow the friar's commands?"

"Shut your mouth, Viking," Boris said through gritted teeth. Ah. He'd landed a blow close to the truth of it.

"Do you have a wife, Boris? Children? Perhaps it is for their lives that you serve him?" From the dim light of a distant torch, Red could see the way the man stiffened. A blow even closer to the truth. He could use what he learned against the man. "I suppose it is better that you die a traitor's death than let The Executioner get to your family."

"I said, shut your mouth ," Boris sneered.

"He'll kill you and your family when he's done with you anyway."

"You know something about that, don't you, Viking?" said a familiar voice.

There were not many people who could put fear in Red, but the quiet, taunting voice of The Executioner immediately brought him back twenty years, turning him from a seasoned warrior to a scared twelve-year-old boy struggling in the bend in the road where he'd first come face to face with the evil man. He emerged from the shadow of the wall like an apparition, practically floating as he moved soundlessly toward Red. He appeared as he did less than a sennight past in the streets of Oswestry—a tall, slim, haunting figure with his face hidden in the folds of his hood.

"Boris," The Executioner said as he stopped directly in front of Red. "Take your stool and move farther away." He flicked his hand dismissively at the guard as he regarded Red from the depths of his hood. "You, of course, will stay here. Now. You're the one that got away," The Executioner said as he stepped closer.

So close, Red could smell the rank stench of his breath. He gave The Executioner a smug smile and said, "Bested by a boy."

The friar slipped his hand into his cloak and pulled out the dagger Red had not seen in twenty years. The dagger was the match to his own, save that the eyes were green gems instead of red. In the dim light, he couldn't see the emeralds, but he remembered them well, remembered watching with fascination as his uncle crafted the blades. They were true works of art, built strong to last a lifetime, meant to be heirlooms, but The Executioner had tainted them.

Now he turned it over in his hands, then held it up so the light from the torch could reflect off the silver of the hilt, making the jeweled eyes of the wolf glitter. "I've kept this for nigh on two decades and it's served me well. Used it too many times to count."

Red felt the fury burning in his gut, climbing his gullet, threatening to choke him.

The Executioner touched the cold tip of the blade to Red's throat, then slid it along his collarbone, the sharp edge stinging against his skin.

Red clenched his teeth together and growled, "At least have the decency to look a man in the eye as you kill him."

The Executioner lifted a hand to his hood and pushed it back just far enough for Red to see his face, his beady eyes locking with Red's as he continued to draw the blade over his skin and carving a shallow path toward his left shoulder, where he stopped and looked at the scar left by the arrow he'd shot at the young Red. He smiled a cold, teeth-baring grin. "I see I did leave you with something, a small memento to remember me by." The friar trailed the tip of the blade to the collar of Red's shirt, then lifted it with his finger and slit the knife through the material from his neck to his waist. He pushed the torn edge back, baring the scar on Red's left shoulder from the arrow, a smirk of satisfaction pulling on his thin lips.

From the corner of his eye, Red saw Boris push to his feet, his head moving from side to side as he tried to get a better look at what was happening, though he made no move to interfere. The friar obviously wanted to talk, or he would have killed Red already, and since there was nothing else to do to get out of this situation, he decided to keep the man talking to buy time.

And possibly, buy a miracle.

"You have a face like a weasel," Red said, smiling mirthlessly at the man. "Makes it easy to recognize you."

The Executioner laughed as he prodded the scar with the point of the dagger, digging it into Red's flesh. "I had rather hoped you would have succumbed to an infection. Fever. Neglect. Anything that would have caused you suffering and death."

"I had the same wish for you," Red replied, keeping his tone even. He would not give the man the satisfaction of seeing him rankled. The scrape of the knife over his collarbone and the thin trail of blood left in its wake was hardly noticeable after his many battles, but now it required a bit more concentration to ignore the tip of the blade digging into the twenty-year-old scar The Executioner had given him with the arrow. He could feel blood beginning to pool and then drip.

The Executioner tsked . "Looks like I will be getting my wish first."

"As a boy," Red said, deliberately speaking slowly, "my mother allowed me to exact revenge on boys who tried to taunt me as long as I still had a bruise or mark from their beating. Once the mark was gone, I could no longer get retribution." Tipping his head to get a better look at The Executioner, he said, "Fortunately, the scar from your arrow will be with me for this life and into the next, so there is no end to my ability to gain my retribution. I thank you for that."

"Ah, yes," The Executioner said, as though recalling an important point. "You heathen Vikings aspire to die in battle and earn your place in Valhalla, scars, and all. Does that mean you think to seek your vengeance in the next life?"

Red kept his voice low and unafraid. "I think to seek my vengeance in this life."

The Executioner pulled the blade away from Red's shoulder and held it up between them, the metal tip dark with blood. He looked at it with a type of fondness. "Do you know why I killed your family?"

"Bloodlust?" Red asked, working hard to keep his tone expressionless.

"That, and because it proved lucrative." He shrugged. "Although, the only gain I got from killing your family was this knife," he lifted his attention to Red's face, "and the pleasure of killing the man who hired me to kill all of you."

Red couldn't stop himself from reacting in surprise, jerking his head back. He'd never realized they'd been targeted. He'd always assumed they had just been unlucky, in the wrong place at the wrong time, the victims of robbery and the bloodthirst of an evil man. They knew no one when they'd landed on English shores and had given no one reason to want them dead. Except…

"My mother's cousin," Red said.

"Aye," The Executioner confirmed. "The churl had a new wife and didn't need more mouths to feed. He was the first man to hire me to do his dirty work. He also holds the honor of being the first man to try to cheat me of what I was owed." He arched an arrogant brow. "And the last."

Red felt no remorse for his mother's kin. He'd gotten what he deserved.

"It's rather poetic, don't you think?" The Executioner asked with a tilt of his head. "The first person I executed for coin was your brother—"

"Uncle," Red corrected, though he didn't know why he felt the need.

"It makes no difference," the evil friar said dismissively. "What matters is that I stole this dagger from him, killed him with it, and then your mother." A sadistic smile crossed his face as he said the last. "And it's been my weapon of choice ever since."

His eyes had blurred with rage when The Executioner spoke so nonchalantly about killing his mother. Only a coward would kill women so callously.

"My only regret was that I didn't get to kill you with it." He cleaned the blood off the tip of the blade by wiping it on Red's shoulder. "But that is about to change."

"Once you use it to kill the king's heir," Red said hastily to keep him talking, "it will be your last execution." Red laughed then. "Well, the last you commit, but it will end with the king executing you. Slowly. And if I know Edward, he will give the executioner that knife to cut your entrails out while you watch. Who can possibly be paying you enough gold to kill your own kin, the son of your cousin, the queen, and to risk enduring the king's wrath?"

The Executioner laughed. "You really think I would tell you?"

"You seem to be in the mood to talk," Red said with a sarcastic smirk.

The Executioner pressed the tip of the knife under Red's chin, leaning his face close to peer into Red's eyes. "I am savoring this kill. I cannot tell you how satisfying it will be to finish executing the only person who has ever escaped my blade. You should be proud of the honor."

"There is no honor where you are concerned." Over The Executioner's shoulder, Red saw Boris walking toward them now, sword in hand.

"Ferrando," Boris said in a low voice, and Red saw the anger creep into The Executioner's face at hearing his name.

"Shut up," he hissed at the guard.

Boris moved to the friar's side. "You didn't say anything about killing him."

"It is not your place to question me," The Executioner said, his irritation rising.

Leaning his face close to the Executioner's, Boris frantically whispered, "If you do this, it will look like I am responsible."

The sound of boisterous talking reached their ears as several drunken guards stumbled out of one of the towers across the castle yard, laughing and slapping each other on the backs. They seemed to be on a course for the back gate of the castle, which would take them very near to where Red was chained to the wall with The Executioner's knife poised to rip his windpipe from his throat.

The Executioner disappeared into the shadows of the wall, but Red wasn't so foolish as to think the threat of having his throat slit to be gone. As soon as the men passed through the back gate, he fully expected The Executioner to return and finish the job.

Only this time, he wouldn't waste his time talking.

To his last dying breath, Red's only regret would be that he never told Galiena that he loved her.