Tye snorted. “You drugged her.”
“To help with her healing.”
“Rather ironic that you are determined to save her, when days ago you wanted her dead.”
Veronique’s lips tightened at the derision in his tone. Did he believe he’d won the right to challenge her decisions? He hadn’t.
“As you well know, circumstances have changed since days ago,” she said. “We need her to survive, at least long enough to recall where Mayda stowed those jewels. I searched the solar myself earlier and could not find them. We do not have much coin left, you and I,” Veronique added. “I plan to sell the jewels left in Landon’s belongings, but with him dead, we need that money to pay the mercenaries to keep our position here secure.”
Tye nodded. “A wise strategy.”
“Once we have Mayda’s jewels, we can hire more mercenaries. You will need an army of warriors to fight at your side when you conquer your sire’s holdings. With Landon’s ring in our possession—”
“We will devise a plan for me to kill my father, so I can seize power in Moydenshire.”
“Exactly.” Veronique winked. “How well you learn.”
A tautness crept into Tye’s features. “Does that mean, then, we do not need Edouard alive? If we get the ring and lure Father into a trap . . .”
“Edouard cannot die yet.” Veronique plucked a fallen, red hair from her sleeve. “I want Geoffrey to suffer. I want him to know the life of his beloved heir is mine, to do with as I please. That Edouard is as worthless to me as you are to your father.” She giggled, barely able to hold back her delight. “I have already sent a missive to Branton Keep, detailing that Edouard is my hostage and Geoffrey must surrender all to us. He will be devastated.”
“Will he?” Tye didn’t look convinced. “Father’s spies will soon alert him we can be found at Waddesford, if they have not done so already. He will not negotiate. He will send his army to crush us.”
Veronique rolled her eyes, as if she spoke with a dim-witted child. “If so, our mercenaries will defend us. In truth, ’tis all the better if he comes here. We will kill Edouard while Geoffrey watches, helpless to stop us. You”—she patted Tye’s cheek—“will then cut down your sire.”
“I will still have the gold ring,” Tye said, clearly following the progression of her thoughts. “’Twill win me audiences with the loyal knights and lords who paid fealty to him, allowing me to murder them, too.” He paused, and his gaze slid to Juliana, still slumbering. “If all unfolds as planned.”
“Why would it not?” Veronique held his gaze, excitement seething inside her like a murky brew. “All that we need to succeed is within our grasp. I promise, you will have your long awaited chance to kill your father.”
Tye was silent.
She waited, ready to crush his hesitation if he didn’t seem convinced.
His lips curved into a dark smile. “When I slay my sire, he will see the loathing on my face.” Rage glinted in Tye’s eyes. “He will know how much I resented his cruel rejection of me years ago. By my sword, I will take my right to be a de Lanceau.”
“You will.”
Tye growled. “Tell me of the day he spurned me.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I have told you often enough—”
“Tell me again. Now,” Tye demanded. His fisted hands shook.
Touching her face, Veronique hid an elated grin. For him to be this rankled proved he would, indeed, pursue the destiny she’d prepared him for since he was a squalling babe. “That day took place years ago, when you were a little boy,” she said, her thoughts slipping back to the past. “I wanted your father to know about you, but since I was not sure how he would react to the news, I arranged a meeting in a meadow where he could not launch a surprise assault. He arrived with armed men. He looked coldly upon me, holding you in my arms. Even when I told him you were his son, proof of the passion we had enjoyed in his bed at Branton Keep, he remained unmoved.”
Tye scowled.
“He did not believe me,” she went on, bitterness souring her tone. “He said another of my lovers was as likely to be your father.”
The fury in Tye’s gaze intensified. “Not once did he convey the slightest doubt.”
For a fleeting instant, he did, before he regained control of his emotions. “Nay,” she answered.
“Yet you are certain Geoffrey de Lanceau is my father.”
“I am. I was faithful to him. After he cast me aside, I did not take a lover for many days.” She pressed a gnarled hand to her bosom. “I tried to make him listen, Tye, but he accused me of attempting to manipulate him. He ordered me to put you down and surrender to him, to be punished for my past crimes.” She managed to bring tears to her eyes. “I sensed he meant to murder us both. Then he’d no longer have to explain us to his noble family or think about his responsibility to you.”
Tye cursed, a frightening sound. “I never imagined him a man to slaughter a child.”
In truth, your gallant father was concerned you might be harmed, a voice inside her answered. But you need not know that.
“I refused to heed him,” she said firmly.
Instead, Tye, I goaded him with promises you’d grow up to destroy him.
“I refused to put you down and lose you forever,” she insisted.
Why would I, when your body shielded me from his warriors’ weapons?
“Protecting your life was all that was important to me.”
Because, Tye, you are destined to succeed where I failed. You will kill Geoffrey de Lanceau and bring a new legacy to Moydenshire.
“I am surprised, Mother, that you were able to elude my father that day.”
She touched her son’s arm, feeling hard, corded muscles through the fabric of his sleeve. How keenly she felt the anger toward his father seething within him. Good. Just as she wanted.
“’Twas not easy to get away,” she said quietly, “but I had paid mercenaries to protect us. They fought your sire and his men while we escaped.”
I held the knife at your throat, Tye, and threatened to hurt you. That allowed us to get away.
“I thank you, Mother, for risking your life to save me. Without you”—Tye’s visage hardened with loathing—“I might not be alive. How I look forward to slaying my wretched father.”
She smiled. “Naught will stand in the way of our conquest of Moydenshire.”
Tye’s blazing gaze returned to the bed. “Naught, that is, but the lovely Juliana.”
The lovely Juliana, a voice inside her mocked. It didn’t matter if Tye admired her beauty. Juliana was but a means to their victory; once she’d helped them find the hidden jewels, Veronique would have her killed. Whether Tye agreed or not.
“What is to happen to Juliana now?” Tye asked. “Will she stay here in the solar?”
A wicked laugh broke from Veronique. “Your brother must be lonely by now. Take her to the tower. Mayhap he can help awaken her memories.”
***
His boots firmly planted into the pallet, Edouard yanked on the chain attached to his right wrist. With a metallic clink, the links jerked taut, jolting his shoulder and sending white-hot pain through the tendons of his arm. Ignoring the metal biting into his wrist, he glanced back down to the chain’s end, secured to an iron ring bolted into the wall; a little more grit floated down to the planks, but the bolts held firm.
He groaned, rubbed his throbbing shoulder, and let his arm fall to his side. How many times had he tried to free the chain? Ten? Fifteen? He’d thought—hoped—that he’d be able to loosen it from the aging stonework. Anger at his captivity and worry for Juliana had driven him to fight for that freedom. However, he’d made no progress. The day was passing, and unless he came up with another strategy, he’d still be a prisoner by nightfall.
Releasing a harsh sigh, he rubbed his sweaty face. He had to get free. He had to get Juliana and his men away from here and warn his father that his vilest enemies were in Moydenshire.
Ah, God, if on
ly he knew how Juliana fared. Veronique had said she’d locate the healer for Juliana; he hoped she had. What if Juliana perished, and he never saw her again? He could not bear that, especially when he was responsible for bringing her to Waddesford.
Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, giving in to the ache in his heart. Fight, Juliana. Live! I need you to live.
He eased himself down and pressed his back against the wall. He’d rest a short while, then tackle the chain again. Mayhap he could rip open the pallet—with his teeth, if need be—and see if there was aught in the straw filling he could use to wear the stone away from around the bolts.
As he dropped his hands into his lap, the metal around his wrists weighed upon him, a silent, physical taunt. How he loathed being chained, enslaved to another’s will. Or so Veronique thought. He’d show her how much she’d underestimated the proud de Lanceau spirit.
Along with his fury, he tasted shame. He rammed his fingers into his hair, tightened his grip until he pulled at the roots. How he’d wanted to make his sire proud. He’d wanted so much to succeed in his mission, to prove himself to be worthy of the de Lanceau legacy and capable of one day taking on his father’s responsibilities.
Instead, he’d led his men into a trap. If Veronique and Tye succeeded in the poisoned scheme they were crafting with Edouard as their hostage, doubtless he and his father would be murdered. Moydenshire would be racked with chaos. Many innocent folk could die. How easy, then, for the king to bring in his armies, ally with Veronique and Tye in a false show of heroically restoring peace, and take control of the lands and riches Edouard’s father had worked hard to keep from the king’s influence.
A groan tore from Edouard’s throat. That terrible outcome would be his fault. His, for being taken prisoner and becoming a pawn to the treachery. He’d handed his sire’s enemies every advantage. Veronique had murdered Landon, and, fettered as Edouard was, he couldn’t do one wretched thing to fix the situation.
He could only pray that the man-at-arms he’d sent to Branton Keep, after they had found Juliana in the river, reached his sire. His father might send more warriors out to investigate.
However, it could take days for them to reach Waddesford, and they might well receive the same welcome at the castle as he and his companions.
He couldn’t wait days. His father, in this situation, wouldn’t have done so.
His sire would have fought to escape. So would he.
Shifting on the pallet, he ran his hands over it, studying each dip and bump beneath the covering. There must be a weak patch somewhere . . .
Male voices—belonging to the guards, Edouard guessed—sounded from beyond the door. Veronique likely had returned to taunt him further.
Edouard rose to a crouch and watched the doorway.
The key sounded in the lock and the door swung inward, causing a draft to whip over the planks. Dust swirled into Edouard’s eyes, and he blinked.
Grunts and the rustle of straw preceded two mercenaries lugging a pallet between them. They hauled the bed across the chamber and, taking care to stay out of his reach, dumped it against the wall closest to him, rousing more dust. Edouard wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hand.
“’Avin’ a wee cry, are ye?” the graying-haired mercenary said.
Edouard glared at him. “Who will be sleeping on that pallet?”
The other man wiped his running nose on his sleeve and grinned. “Well, ye see—”
“Come on,” the older mercenary said. “We still ’ave ta bring up what’s at the bottom o’ the stairs.” He executed a mocking bow. “Yer lordship.”
Snickering, the two men retreated out the door. The panel quickly closed and the lock engaged.
Edouard looked over the pallet, as lumpy and grimy as his own. He was going to be sharing this cell. With whom? One of his men? Or . . . Juliana?
Anticipation raced through him at the thought. ’Twould be completely inappropriate, especially when he was to marry her sister, but true to Veronique’s depraved character. He and Juliana, imprisoned together, a prospect both exciting and mortifying, for they’d be intimately aware of each other every moment. Each breath, sound, and whisper would be shared.
’Twould be its own kind of torture.
More voices came from outside the door, the cadence of the tones indicating one man was giving orders. Then the lock turned again, and the door opened to admit Tye, holding Juliana in his arms.
Dismay plowed through Edouard; he’d correctly guessed Veronique’s intentions. However, Juliana lay with her eyes shut and appeared as unresponsive as when Tye had carried her out of this chamber earlier. She was clothed in a clean chemise, and her skin and hair looked freshly washed, indicating someone had bathed her. Yet her arms curled toward Tye’s chest in a gesture of entreaty.
Edouard shoved to his feet. “What have you done to her?”
Tye’s boots thumped on the planks.
“Why is she still unconscious? She was to see the healer—”
“—and she did. She is resting now. Sleep is good for curing ailments, is it not?”
“I tell you”—Edouard said firmly—“she does not look well. I demand—”
Tye laughed before halting by the empty pallet. “You are a brave fool, Brother, to speak in that manner to me.”
Beware, a voice inside Edouard shrilled. Do not be foolish and jeopardize Juliana’s well-being.
Trying to keep the force from his words, he asked, “Why have you brought her here?”
“Mother decided she will stay with you.” Tye winked. “She thought you might like a companion.” He dropped to his knees, lowered Juliana to the pallet, and stepped away. She lay with her left arm curved over her waist. Her right arm stretched away from her body, fingers slightly spread and accentuating the slenderness of her hands.
He’d put her on her right side facing Edouard rather than flat on her back, a small kindness that kept pressure from her head wound.
Kindness? Nay. That sentiment had no bearing with Tye.
Edouard met his brother’s gloating stare. “You know this arrangement is not proper.”
“Proper?” Tye shrugged and straightened his tunic.
“I am betrothed to her sister. If that is not significant enough, Juliana is a titled noblewoman. Most likely a virgin.”
“Ah. Your chivalrous morals are screaming in protest.”
Edouard silently cursed and struggled to rein in his rising temper.
“’Twill not be of consequence,” Tye said. “Unless, that is, you intend to defile her?”
“Of course not!” Edouard roared.
Tye grinned, obviously pleased by Edouard’s outburst. “You would not want to give in to temptation and upset not only your future bride, but Father, would you?”
What a vile taunt. Through the red haze clouding his mind, Edouard realized Tye had called their sire “Father.” An even more grave insult.
“He is not your father,” Edouard bit out.
“By blood, he is.”
“When I explain I had no choice in sharing my imprisonment with Juliana,” Edouard went on, his tone harshening, “he will understand. That does not concern me half as much as ruining Juliana’s reputation.”
Tye raised his brows. “What an honorable man you are.”
“I think also of her well-being. This chamber is draughty. It has no hearth to provide warmth. In her weakened condition . . .”
Tye smiled, a wry tilt of his lips. “Fine reasoning, but she is to stay here. Mother’s orders.” His gaze turned cold. “In all honesty, Brother, you two are not likely to leave Waddesford alive. Why torment yourself about morality and matters you cannot control?”
Edouard stifled his biting retort. He would leave here alive, and so would Juliana.
He glanced at her, hoping for a sign she was reviving. Her bosom rose and fell on slow, steady breaths, a sign of deep slumber. If she slept through his and Tye’s conversation, she m
ight not wake for some time.
Footfalls sounded in the stairwell outside the still-open door.
“At last, they return,” Tye muttered.
The mercenaries who’d brought the pallet walked in, sweat streaming down their faces.
“Yer piss bucket, milord.” The gray-haired mercenary set it on the floor then shoved it with his booted foot toward Edouard.
“And yer foin beddin’.” The other man threw a woolen blanket at Edouard before tossing one at Juliana. It landed on her bare feet.
Edouard caught his blanket before it hit his chest. Chain links batted his side as he shook out the worn covering. A bit thin, but ’twould still give some warmth when night fell.
When he looked up, Tye held his stare and smirked. “You have all you need, then.”
“Juliana does not. I would like to speak with Veronique about these arrangements.”
A rough chuckle rumbled from Tye. “When she wishes to see you, she will. Until then,”—his gaze roved over Juliana and lingered, for a moment, upon her breasts swelling against her sheer garment—“you are on your own.”
***
A gritty rasp edged into Juliana’s sleepy consciousness. A rhythmic sound, she slowly realized. Rasp, rasp, rasp. Pause. Rasp, rasp, rasp.
She tried to rouse to full alertness. Her groggy mind resisted; it felt unnaturally dense, dominated by blackness heavier than she’d experienced before.
Wake, Juliana. Find Edouard. You must be certain he is all right.
She became aware of an earthy smell rising from beneath her cheek. She was lying on her side. A prickly roughness scratched her arm, while across her legs, a softer, yet also prickly, sensation persisted.
Juliana swallowed, for an earthy taste clung to her mouth. An unpleasant flavor. If only she had some water or ale to swill the essence away. Indeed, any drink would do.
Drink . . . The last thing she’d downed was the brew the healer had made for her at Veronique’s bidding. Juliana tried to steady her nerves. Was she still in the solar? Was Veronique using those gruesome bones to make that gritty noise?
Rasp, rasp, rasp came again. A shiver crawled through Juliana as she forced her eyes open.
A Knight's Persuasion (Knight's Series Book 4) Page 14
