Blanche recoiled. ‘You mean torture? No.’
Andrey grinned. ‘Are you showing mercy again tonight, Cousin? Since when have you shown compassion to your enemies? You have cut down men in their dozens without a second thought.’
Blanche closed her eyes. She smelled the iron odour of blood, felt the cold steel in her hand. Each man she had cut down in the assault on Charles Roi had been one strike against Charles de Blois and his army in revenge for the loyal Bretons who had died. Why did the existence of one stranger attack her conscience so powerfully? Her strange compassion to the surviving crew was his fault.
‘We are in a war. I will kill when I know the men are my enemies,’ she said brusquely. ‘I don’t know that this man is. He may be an ally or, if he does follow de Blois’s cause, he may be a useful hostage. We can hand him over at any time.’
She glanced towards the building where Jack was being housed. She had few servants, but even at dawn the building was buzzing like a beehive, alive with the sounds of daily life. A visitor listening to the chatter of maids washing could believe he was in just another household, not the stronghold of a feared pirate.
‘He might respond better to a man asking questions. Not all men think women worth speaking the truth to.’
Maybe it was time for Jack to receive a visit from the Sea Wolf. This would test him and allow Blanche to see whether she received the same declarations twice.
‘I will speak to him once more.’
Andrey looked her up and down. ‘Like this? What if he recognises you?’
Blanche gave him a tight smile. ‘It isn’t likely. He’ll see what he expects to see—a man in a mask. Why would he assume I’m a woman beneath the disguise when I do something so unwomanly? He’s only seen me briefly in any case.’
She made her way instead to the storeroom. Andrey’s guard was sitting at the end of the corridor, dozing. He jumped at her sharp whistle.
‘Has he been any trouble tonight?’ Blanche asked.
The guard shook his head.
‘Wait here for my word,’ Blanche instructed, taking the lantern from the table. She pulled her mask on, tipped the brim of her hat lower over her face and swung the door open.
Jack was lying on the bed, stretched out on top of the furs. His hands were behind his head and one long leg was bent at the knee, crooked over the other. He appeared to be asleep and looked much as he had on the beach the first time Blanche had seen him. She was half-tempted to try to wake him and see if he repeated his kiss and in turn regained some memories, but as she stepped over the threshold his head jerked up.
‘Madame, is that you?’
His tone was eager. Blanche paused, wondering what in her step had made him recognise her? She lowered her voice more, making it into a husky snarl.
‘No.’
Blanche hung the lantern on a hook beside the door and stood, arms folded and legs planted apart. She stuck her hips forward and lifted her head. The mask would disguise her face and as always she spoke in a deep growl to hide the feminine tones.
‘My men tell me you have been calling for her. Why? Is there something you need?’
Blanche swept a hand around the room, taking in the mattress with fine furs. She looked pointedly at the table where an uncorked wine bottle stood beside an empty wooden plate. She knew he had been sent water to bathe earlier in the day.
Jack set his jaw. ‘I have no cause to complain of my care. I have everything I need except my freedom.’ Jack’s expression became bullish. He lowered his hands and sat upright, swaying slightly. ‘Are you the master of this house?’
‘No. You have met its mistress, Madame Tanet.’
She watched as he digested this information. When he looked back at her, his eyes were sharp.
‘She is your wife?’
Blanche laughed. ‘Madame Tanet is a widow. She belongs to no man.’
Jack cocked his head, his eyes flickering with interest. Blanche’s palms grew sweaty inside her leather gloves. Most women did belong to someone and Blanche woke every day knowing how fragile and unusual her independence was.
‘Then how come you are here?’ Jack asked.
‘The lady and I have come to an arrangement that works well for both of us.’ She thickened her accent as an extra precaution until she sounded more like the common fishermen in the village.
Jack’s eyes widened, then narrowed slightly. Interesting. He was obviously speculating what sort of arrangement it was and no doubt coming to the conclusion Blanche expected. Knowing he had no suspicion of whom he was talking to gave her a rush of pleasure and power. She drew her sword, but held it at her side. Jack’s eyes followed the movement and his powerful shoulders tensed.
‘Madame Tanet tells me you claim to have no memory of who you are.’
He gave her an angry glare. ‘I do more than “claim”.’
He was dressed now, wearing one of the servants’ loose tunics and breeches. The tunic was tied by two points, leaving the top two open. Blanche tried not to look too obviously at his chest. He swung his legs over the bed and indicated the table.
‘May I have some paper and the means to write?’ he asked.
‘You can write?’ Blanche raised an eyebrow. ‘You know this, yet you do not know your name?’
He looked perplexed. ‘I know some things, though I don’t know why or how. I can speak. I can dress myself, as you can see. I hoped if I had the means to write or draw, some memories might come to me.’
He probed carefully at the edge of the bandage. His hands were long, with slender fingers and well-kept nails. She knew from nursing him there were old callouses on the ridge at the base of each finger that had started to soften. If he was a sailor they would be hardened. He was a mystery. Solving it teased her intriguingly.
‘Who are you?’ she breathed.
He looked surprised and Blanche realised with alarm that she had almost let her guise down for a moment and revealed her true self.
‘Tell me the truth,’ she said, more sternly. ‘I have no time for men who speak falsehoods to me.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, his voice rising in frustration. He bunched his fists, pressing them to the side of his temples, then pounded them on the wall in frustration. His expression darkened and he looked unexpectedly dangerous. He stood and faced Blanche, arms crossed and head high. His sleeves were rolled up and his arms were toned, but did not have the deep tan of men who were used to working outside all day. Good arms. Strong arms, Blanche thought, then despised herself a little for noticing such a detail.
‘I have told you what I told Madame Tanet. Present me with another visitor and I shall swear the same to him. Where am I? I have told you everything I am able, yet no one will tell me where I am or who is keeping me here.’
He stepped towards her and she raised the sword. ‘Do not move.’
‘Who are you?’ Jack growled. ‘You come in here, threatening me with a sword. I demand to know why I am being kept here.’
‘I’m not threatening you,’ Blanche snarled. ‘This is for my protection.’
‘Against what?’
Jack curled his lip. He spread his arms wide and turned in a slow circle, giving Blanche a perfect view of his tall, strong body. He would conquer her easily if he decided to attack. She gripped her sword tighter. When he faced her there was no fear in his eyes, only anger held in check. If she held a sword to his throat, he would not quake like the Captain of Charles Roi had.
‘I have no way of attacking you or defending myself. Until this morning I could not even raise myself from the bed. You are treating me poorly, monsieur, and I would like some answers. If I were myself again and in possession of a weapon of my own, I would take them from your lips at sword point.’
‘If you were yourself, you would not need to fight me for the answers,’ Blanche pointed out. She lowered th
e sword, her hand trembling a little as the thought of what he had already done to her lips sent a shiver through her belly. ‘But you obviously think you are capable, which tells us both something about you, does it not?’
He glared at her, then spun away and walked to the window, his frustration clear. Being a storeroom, the window was high set and narrow. He raised himself on to the balls of his feet, craning his head to look out, and grabbed hold of the bars as if he intended to pull his entire body off the ground. His arms were muscular and Blanche considered that he would have no problem doing that.
‘What do you see?’ Blanche asked, curious to discover what would command his attention. ‘Tell me what it tells you.’
He looked over his shoulder at her. Light drenched his hair, picking out the blond among the sand and casting shadows over sculpted cheekbones. ‘Is this a test? Will I earn my freedom if I pass?’
She cocked her head to one side and gestured. Their eyes locked and for a moment she was fixed by the certainty Jack recognised her, despite the mask, but he looked away. He was silent as his head moved from side to side. Blanche held her breath.
‘There is a rounded tower on the building opposite with a window set high into the top. I know I am below ground here because I can see doorways and steps.’
He sniffed. ‘From the smell of grain I think this is a storeroom, not a cell.’
He breathed again, more deeply and slower. His shoulders lifted and his torso expanded. He had a powerful body, Blanche thought. She caught herself wondering what it would be like to run her hands over the solid muscles of his back that moved beneath the tunic, imagining them to be as solid and sculpted as those in his chest. She took a step closer.
‘I can smell the sea,’ Jack murmured. ‘And when it is quiet in the night I think I can hear the waves.’
He let go of the bars and dropped on to his feet with a lightness that took Blanche by surprise, and stood upright.
‘I already know I am by the coast because Madame Tanet told me they had only brought me a short way. Where is she?’ he asked.
Blanche was struck by the eagerness in his voice. He obviously found her attractive from the way his eyes filled with life. She wondered how deeply the memory of their kiss was buried and what it would take to make it resurface.
‘You’d like to see her again?’ she asked. ‘A pretty woman, isn’t she, for all that she is older than you, I think? Don’t men your age hanker after young virginal girls?’
‘I don’t hanker after anyone,’ Jack snapped. He raised his head and his eyes were hard, though pain whispered at the edge of his voice. ‘I would like to see her again because she was kind to me when I woke and I believe it is down to her I owe my life. I would like to thank her.’
Blanche sheathed her sword and adjusted her cloak and gloves.
‘Perhaps you will see her again. However, I will pass any messages on to her that you wish. I will leave you now. I have matters to attend to.’
‘Am I a prisoner?’ Jack asked, anger in his voice. ‘Is the door to be bolted once more?’
Blanche jerked her head up in surprise. She had not drawn the bolt when she had left, which meant that if he knew of its existence he had either opened the door or had heard it before. Which in turn meant he had been feigning sleep when she entered to bathe him. Her sense of fairness told her he had perhaps half woken and was lapsing in and out of sleep and had not intended to deceive her. The contemptuous part of her that knew what she did of men was unsure.
Jack flexed his arms. ‘I have been still and sleeping for too long and ache to stretch my legs.’
Blanche looked at the limbs in question that he now planted apart. They were long and lean with—she couldn’t help but notice—a sizeable bunching of cloth between them. She had thought her desire for men had been ground out of her by the degrading exploits she had put herself through since Yann’s death, but to her consternation, heat rose to her face. Images of lovemaking began to bud in her mind like wild blooms after the winter frost.
‘You stay here for now. For your safety as much as anything else. Madame Tanet had to fight to bring you here and her men will not trust a stranger as readily as she will. These are difficult times.’
She hammered on the door with a fist. Jack tensed, looking as though he was about to spring forward, but when she held out a hand he stood back. He clearly didn’t like the answer. She didn’t blame him.
When the door opened, Blanche dropped into a low bow, sweeping the hat from her head with a flourish, and swept out. She bolted the door, taking care to make as much noise as possible so Jack knew what she had done.
She leaned against the door and pulled the mask from her face, then fanned her neck with her hat and faced Andrey who was waiting at the end of the passageway.
‘I think he’s telling the truth.’
‘Did you mention what we found in the barrels?’ Andrey asked.
Blanche shook her head. What they had discovered had been surprising, but it had not seemed an appropriate time to throw it in his face. It had been interesting to see how Jack’s manner had been when he believed he was speaking to a man. He had been polite, yet this time she had sensed an undercurrent of belligerence he had not shown to Blanche. She’d half expected him to attack her even without a sword in his hand.
She believed his memory loss was true, however, though how to help him regain it was going to be a challenge. And she did want him to. He fascinated her beyond explanation. She would have to think about it, but now she craved her bed.
‘I want one more interview with him later on,’ Blanche insisted.
She pressed her ear to the door and could hear Jack muttering to himself but could not make out his words. She wondered what he would be like in a fight. She wondered what he would be like in bed. She wasn’t sure which excited her more.
Chapter Five
Jack was torn from sleep by the sound of the door slamming back and wood hitting stone. He had been awake until dawn rose, considering his conversation with the mysterious man before giving into his body’s demand for sleep.
His body jerked and he gazed blearily at the two figures who had entered. They had not visited him before and were dressed in well-cut coats of wool, but their belts were adorned with various weapons that looked well used.
‘Get up,’ the younger of the two—a handsome dark-haired man who Jack thought looked about forty—barked. ‘You’re wanted.’
Jack frowned. He pushed himself on to his elbows, cursing the fact that he still felt slightly dizzy when he moved too suddenly. ‘Who by?’
‘You’ll find out when you get there,’ the man replied curtly. ‘If you don’t come willingly, we’ll take you.’
He pulled the edge of his cloak back to reveal a pair of iron cuffs linked by a heavy chain. Jack pushed himself from the bed, his temper flaring and his fists bunching. He reined it back in. Though the man’s tone caused his temper to rise, he was not prepared to suffer the indignity of being shackled. Besides, this was his first opportunity to leave his room and he would be unwise to pass it up.
He pulled on a loose-fitting jerkin over his tunic and hose. At the end of the bed was a pair of boots. They were well-worn brown leather, scuffed at the heels and toes, and reached to mid-calf. When he pulled them on they fitted him perfectly, fitting to the shape of his soles and toes, so were most likely his own. He inspected them curiously for a moment, waiting for some sign of recognition, but beyond the sense of striding he got nothing.
The men stood by, the one who had spoken drumming his fingers on his crossed arms with an impatient look on his face. A spark of mutiny reared up in Jack and he took time to run his fingers through the side of his hair that wasn’t muffled in the bandage, to adjust his borrowed clothes to his liking and to rub a finger round his teeth to freshen them. He caught a flash of a smirk on the face of the short, wide man.
‘I’m ready,’ he said, addressing the short man. ‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll find out when we get there,’ Dark Hair growled.
They led him along a passageway. Jack gazed round curiously at the rooms he passed. He was, as he had suspected, in a storeroom. The other rooms he passed were being used to store food, including a particularly pungent cheese that made Jack’s mouth water.
They climbed the stairs and emerged in the small courtyard that Jack had seen from his window. He looked back at the building and identified what he thought was his room at the furthest end. He tried not to think of it as a cell because the idea of his imprisonment made his body grow cold with perspiration. He began walking across the courtyard towards the round tower that was the only other building within the walls.
‘Not that way,’ said the short man. ‘Follow us.’
They walked at either side of him and led him through the gateway round the back of the tower. Wind buffeted him, catching his hair and the loose sleeves of his tunic. He inhaled deeply, relishing the fresh air after the stifling yeastiness of the storeroom. A rutted track led down and away from the castle. Jack looked back, ignoring the urging of the two men. The round tower was a squat, wide building with windows set at intervals that revealed three storeys. It clung to the edge of a cliff, with a sheer drop to the rocks below. Jack felt dizzy even looking at it.
‘Come on,’ said the short man, while Dark Hair gave him a rough shove between the shoulder blades.
Eventually, they emerged on a long, curved beach. By the time they arrived, Jack’s back and armpits were clammy with perspiration and the tunic was sticking to him. He hadn’t realised how weak he still was. He walked unaided, though his speed had slightly irritated his captors. He was determined he would not show any weakness to them.
When his feet crunched on the sand, he had to resist the urge to sink down to his knees. Instead he stood and gazed around, moving his head slowly from one end of the beach to the other.
Uncovering the Merchant's Secret Page 5
