Yer a foul, slimy excuse for a man if ever I—”
Sallie’s tirade ended abruptly as her head snapped back. A trickle of blood bloomed from her bottom lip, a result of the big guard’s backhanded blow.
“There’s no need for that, Graham.” Wyn’s rebuke came out sharper than he’d intended, drawing Reynard’s attention.
“Un problème, mon ami?”
“No.” Wyn’s unexpected sympathy for the girl certainly wouldn’t help her at all. Not for the first time, a pang of regret flashed through him. Of all the bad decisions in his mistake-laden life, his choice to back his best friend over his brother had been by far the worst.
He’d been young and foolish, convinced Reynard had everyone’s best interests at heart.
And his brother? His brother had been the most arrogant, domineering creature in the Realm of Faerie, undeserved accolades and honors handed to him on a golden platter.
Or so it had seemed to Wyn at the time. Staring into the glittering eyes of the friend he’d given up so much for, he admitted that after all these centuries, he wasn’t so sure anymore.
Reynard had no more compassion for a Mortal than he would for some six-legged creature he might find living under a wet log he turned with the toe of his boot. He would have one killed as easily as the other. Both without regret of any sort.
It was for this reason Wyn had chosen not to share what he’d learned about Mairi. He couldn’t see placing both women at risk.
Wyn dropped his eyes respectfully, turning with a practiced shrug intended to convey complete and utter disregard for the entire situation. It was the only chance he might have to help the poor little creature.
“No problem at all, Rey.” The familiar name from his youth slipped easily from his tongue, though he suspected the man to whom that name had belonged had disappeared over the centuries, if he’d ever really existed at all.
Wyn walked to the fire the men had built in the small hovel they’d commandeered and held his hands out, rubbing them together to warm them. “I care naught about the maid. It’s simply that she’ll be of no use to you once she’s injured. If your man there closes her eyes with his blows, how will she be able to locate the Portal for us?”
Wyn kept his direct gaze averted, watching stealthily from under his lashes to see if his words had hit their mark.
Reynard stared at the girl, unconsciously brushing dirt from his sleeve.
“Oui,” he murmured to himself at last. “Perhaps you are correct. Leave her be.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, yer grace.” The guard bowed his head before continuing. “But if she spews them vile insults to yer person, am I to allow it?”
Reynard pulled a scarf from his sleeve and tossed it to the man. “Tie that about her pretty mouth if she can’t keep it shut. If that merits your approval, Wyn?”
Wyn refused to meet Reynard’s eyes. “Matters not to me. The less noise, the better.” That seemed to satisfy his old friend.
It would have to do. He’d done everything he dared for their captive. Any more interference might result in Reynard’s allowing his men to do her real damage.
Wyn snapped his fingers and the Mortal—Ran, was it?—came to his side, the dull stare of compulsion the boy’s only expression.
“Prepare our bedding for the night.”
At the order, Ran scuttled off to lay out bedding for both Wyn and Reynard.
With a deep mental sigh, Wyn squatted down, staring into the fire, escaping into his thoughts. He hated using compulsions. The spark of humanity that he found so interesting in Mortals completely disappeared under the force of his magic.
Besides, it took so much energy from him to maintain a good compulsion, Wyn felt drained afterward. That was why Reynard preferred to have him do it.
Interesting how Reynard had never seemed to realize that allowing Wyn to place the compulsion meant the Mortals were under Wyn’s control, not Reynard’s. Not that it made any difference.
Why should Reynard worry? He was secure in the knowledge that Wyn would do whatever he wanted. What else could he do? He had nowhere to go unless he wanted to strike out on his own.
A shiver ran down Wyn’s spine. If only he’d been able to capture Mairi. He could have convinced Reynard he’d merely taken a fancy to her, that he only wanted a new pet. Perhaps with her aid he would have been able to locate the Portal himself. To go home.
And then what?
Find his brother? Grovel at his older sibling’s feet? Beg for mercy from the High Council?
He stood and kicked a pebble into the fire before turning away in disgust. Disgust with everything he’d ever done. Disgust with what he’d become.
There was no going home for him.