A Knight's Persuasion (Knight's Series Book 4)

by Catherine Kean

  We are not lovers. We never can be, for I am betrothed to your sister.

  His words whirled through her exhausted mind. His admission that he was committed to another had shocked the breath from her and left her numb. Shame, too, welled inside her. She might not remember his betrothal to her sister he’d told her was named Nara, but harboring such strong emotions toward him was surely improper.

  “I am very happy for you and Nara.” She’d bravely forced out the words, while hating the way her voice wobbled.

  He must have noticed, for his lips pressed into a line. Before she could ask when the wedding would take place, he’d turned away to attack the wall with the stone. His ferocious assault suggested he didn’t want to talk about the matter anymore, so she’d let him work in silence. He’d toiled until twilight, without saying another word. While he’d made some headway, he hadn’t yet managed to loosen the bolts, and his brooding silence had left her unsettled and unbearably lonely.

  ’Twas odd, how intensely she felt Edouard’s presence reaching out of the blackness to her. She sensed his body warmth, heard his rhythmic breathing and the occasional clink of chains, and sensed he, too, was awake and trying to deal with the thoughts racing around in his mind.

  Why did she feel this way toward a man who wasn’t her lover?

  A breeze slipped over her, coming from the open window. Shivering, she drew the thin blanket about her shoulders. Hoping for sleep. Wanting to escape this cell. Longing to finally recall all there was to know about herself, Lady Juliana de Greyne.

  While she and Edouard hadn’t coupled and produced a child, and he was pledged to her sister, something had occurred between them. Her feelings for him wouldn’t be so intense or muddled otherwise.

  He sighed. Fighting a pinch of guilt, she imagined the broad muscles of his chest expanding and contracting. The parting of his lips—so beautifully sculpted—as air rushed from them.

  “Juliana.” His voice rumbled through the darkness.

  She started. Had he sensed her thinking about him? “A-aye, Edouard?”

  “I knew you were awake.”

  She curled her fingers against the pallet. ’Twas unseemly of her, but she found pleasure in the rich timbre of his voice; it roused within her a comforting blend of reassurance and trust. A thrill raced through her, too, to know that he, somehow, had been so aware of her. Smiling, she asked, “How did you know I was not asleep?”

  “A feeling. A kind of . . . sensing.” Metal scraped and she imagined him shifting on his pallet. “’Tis difficult to put into words.”

  She knew, though, exactly what he meant. If only she understood what had forged a connection this strong between them.

  Another gust swept across the floor, and Juliana shuddered before tugging the blanket all the way up to her chin. The night wind was strengthening.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “A bit cold.” Remorse poked at her, for while she was a captive, she didn’t have iron bands clamped around her wrists and could move about as she wished. He must be uncomfortable, trying to sleep while chained. “You must be chilled, too,” she murmured. “You are close to the window.”

  He grunted. “I will manage.”

  How nonchalant he sounded; she imagined his shoulder rising in a careless shrug. If she pressed him, he’d probably say he’d spent colder nights sleeping on the ground in midwinter, as part of his warrior training. Yet she discerned he was, indeed, uncomfortable; he likely didn’t want to admit such because that would give Veronique a small victory, and he was a proud man who didn’t yield easily.

  “It must be near midnight,” he said.

  “Mmm.”

  “We should try and sleep. When dawn breaks, I will work again on my chains. Mayhap I will have better luck on the morrow.”

  “There must be another way to escape,” she said.

  “For you, mayhap. I am here till I break my fetters from the wall or they are unlocked.” He growled a sigh. “If only you knew how much I want to be free.”

  “I can hear it in your voice,” she said softly. “I feel your rage and frustration, as if they were my own.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “We are one then, in our discontent.”

  We are one. Three little words that sounded wondrous strung together. Juliana closed her eyes and savored the heady glimmer inside her, ignoring her conscience that insisted she shouldn’t indulge such thoughts.

  How curious, that she wasn’t as cold as moments ago, or as unsettled. She breathed in and slowly exhaled, allowing her muscles to relax for a moment; the constant ache in her head to dim; her mind to calm . . .

  Ooooo . . .

  Her limbs jerked with the abruptness of her waking. Her heart pounded.

  That cry . . . So haunting.

  With a shaking hand, she pushed aside hair that had fallen over her cheek while she dozed. Was Edouard moaning because he was in pain? Mayhap he was asleep, enduring a nightmare. Or had she dreamt the noise?

  Ooooo . . .

  The sound was akin to someone wailing. Not Edouard, though; the noise emanated from outside.

  A chill crawled over her skin and she drew the blanket tighter about her. Might she be hearing a spirit? The ghostly presence of a prisoner who’d died in this chamber?

  Chains rattled from the darkness. “Juliana?”

  When her mind registered Edouard’s voice, she also heard short, ragged breaths: her own.

  “What is wrong?” he asked.

  “That n-noise.” Her voice emerged no more than a croak.

  “’Tis the wind blowing past the tower walls.”

  “It sounds like a person c-crying. A baby’s wail . . .” Her teeth chattered. She became aware of cooling wetness on her cheeks: tears.

  “’Tis only the wind.” His gentle words were no doubt meant to console her. Somehow, though, the anxiety inside her furrowed deeper.

  Ooooo . . .

  Edouard was right. The night gusts caused the eerie wail. However, the noise tapped into a place inside her that hurt. Oh, how she ached. Why? What had happened in her past to rouse such a devastating sense of loss?

  She squeezed her eyes shut. If only she remembered! She must remember, for the anguish threatened to tear her apart.

  “Juliana—”

  A sob wrenched from her.

  “You are crying.” Surprise, and a hint of dismay, echoed in his voice.

  She dried her eyes on the edge of her blanket. “I d-do not know why.” She sniffled. “That s-sound . . .”

  Ooooo . . .

  Straw crackled in the near darkness. “Come here.”

  Blinking hard, she glanced in his direction. Foolish. In the inkiness, she couldn’t see him. Yet the thought of being close to him during this grim night was very tempting.

  “Come to me, Juliana.” How tenderly he spoke. “I cannot cross to you.”

  A shudder rippled its way through her lower body, while she stifled another sob. “I do n-not think . . . You are b-betrothed.”

  “Aye,” he said, his tone strained, “but I can still comfort you.”

  What would it be like to be in his embrace? Part of her yearned for it; part of her shrilled that she’d be wiser to avoid temptation and stay where she was. “Edouard . . .”

  “I understand your reluctance, but ’tis a cold night. In your weakened state, ’twould be easy for you to succumb to a chill and fall deathly ill.”

  “T-true.” She didn’t want to die in this miserable cell.

  “You must stay well, Juliana, and heal, so your memories will return. Our fate—indeed, that of all of Moydenshire—may depend upon what you remember.”

  He was right. Her qualms were nowhere near as important as her survival. “A-all right. I w-will come to you.” She pushed to a seated position, letting her blanket slide down to her waist. Then she gathered up the blanket and tucked it under one arm.

  “Follow my voice,” he said.

 
Ooooo . . .

  Stretching out her hand, she touched the floor. The planks felt as cold as a frozen lake against her palm. Shivering, she tugged her chemise up around her thighs so it wouldn’t hinder her progress—he wouldn’t see her bared legs in the darkness—then crawled forward on her hands and knees. Listening.

  “I am here,” Edouard said.

  His voice seemed to wash over her, coaxing her on. An unusual excitement flickered within her. How tantalizing, to approach him in this way. To be in total darkness, but for his voice.

  Her chemise bunched at her knees. Pushing the fabric aside again, she said, “Speak again.”

  “I am here, Juliana.” His tone was huskier than before. She imagined him talking to her that way while his lips brushed her cheek, and she fought a wicked tremor.

  Stop it, Juliana. He is to marry Nara, remember?

  Another crawl forward. Another.

  Her fingers bumped the edge of his pallet.

  “Almost here,” he murmured.

  She sensed him very near. He didn’t reach for her, or make the slightest move, but his earthy, male scent came from the blackness ahead. Her palms started to sweat. Part of her—the rational, sensible part—screamed, Turn back, while you still can.

  Nay. She wouldn’t retreat. She wanted to survive.

  Her fingers slipped onto the pallet. As she edged forward, her hand shifted. Touched warm cloth.

  “My left leg,” he said.

  “Oh.” She drew a steadying breath. “Then the rest of you is—”

  Metal clanked. His limb shifted beneath her hand; taut muscles and tendons slid beneath the fabric. Icy fingers nudged her, and then his broad hand settled atop hers.

  His touch, while cold, sent warmth coursing through her body. His strength, reassurance, and promise of companionship were as inviting as a steaming mug of mulled wine on a winter evening.

  She sighed. His fingers squeezed; heat spread from where their hands touched. Even that small contact was wonderful.

  “I cannot move any closer,” he said gently. “You will have to move nearer to me.”

  Nearer. Her heart fluttered, as though she were a sparrow perched outside a window, looking in.

  “Why do you hesitate?” Edouard’s chains rattled again, and she sensed him leaning closer, seeking her out in the darkness.

  A thrill hastened down her spine. How breathless, light-headed, she felt, and not from her wound. “I am . . . a bit unsettled,” she admitted.

  “By me?”

  She rubbed her lips together. Him, aye. The odd feelings he roused in her. The fact she felt as she did, when he belonged to her sister . . . The wind moaned again, sending frigid air over her, and she shivered.

  “You will no longer be cold,” he said softly, “when you are with me.”

  His hand shifted. With gentle pressure, he slid his palm underneath hers to entwine their fingers, and then pulled her toward him.

  Her stomach swooped. “Edouard—”

  “Come to me, Juliana.”

  Her arm stretched taut, drawing her torso toward him. Losing her balance, she began to fall toward the pallet. For one panicked moment, she thought to pull away.

  With a swift tug, he levered her forward. The breath rushed from her lips as she collided with the broad, solid heat of his chest.

  His breath stirred her hair. “You are here,” he said. “At last.”

  ***

  Edouard stilled, waiting for Juliana to gain her balance. Her free hand banged into his jaw.

  “Oh! I—”

  Her fingers were like icicles. Even as he acknowledged their coldness, her hand skated across his cheek, not a deliberate touch, but an instinctive reaction, no doubt, to her body sliding down against his, guided by his embrace.

  Not such a bad way to be with a woman.

  Her finger jabbed his right eyeball.

  “Ah!” His eyelids clamped shut. Just what he needed, to be half blind as well as chained. Of course, she hadn’t meant to poke him.

  “Sorry. Oh, goodness, w-was that—?”

  “My eye.” Edouard blinked away moisture.

  Her hand bumped against his shoulder. “Did I hurt y-you?”

  “Nay.”

  “Thank the Saints.” She laughed, a nervous warble. “This close, and I still c-cannot see you.”

  Nor I you, his mind answered, while he eased his fingers from hers to allow her to better recline. But I can hear you breathe, feel the softness of your warm chemise, and smell the perfume of your hair. God above, Juliana, how you entice me.

  Even as he struggled to squash that thought, his hardened loins swelled further. Damnation. He’d vowed to keep control of his desire. He’d offered Juliana comfort, and he meant to honor his words. Either he regained command of his lust, or he’d spend the entire night in aroused agony.

  He concentrated on quelling the fire in his groin. Straw shifted as Juliana settled beside him. He guessed that she was lying on her side, heard the faint rasp of wool as she covered herself with her blanket. When she fell quiet, he sensed she was looking at where she knew him to be.

  A silent growl of pleasure unfurled inside him. He still couldn’t see her, but in the small gap separating their bodies, her heat reached out to him like a bonfire beacon in the night. How he longed to bring her flush against him, to feel her supple curves against his hardness . . .

  Edouard, you wretched fool! Quit such thoughts, or you will drive yourself mad.

  He frowned, determined to conquer his disgraceful weakness. Be gallant, Edouard, and think about her comfort. Sliding his hand up the pallet, he found the chain running between them and pushed it closer to him. She needn’t lie on it and be uncomfortable. Then he tugged his blanket, barely large enough for one, back up over his waist, painfully aware that even the slightest movement caused the chains to make noise.

  “Do they hurt?” she asked.

  They. Several answers to this question leapt to mind, the most inappropriate rising to the fore. Managing to keep his tone calm, he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “The iron bands around your wrists.”

  Ah. “A little,” he said. “Fetters are not designed to be pleasant. Are you comfortable enough?”

  “Aye, but I am still cold.”

  He settled his cheek upon his bent arm, just as her hand moved, mayhap to adjust her blanket. Her fingers knocked his chin; one fingertip touched his lips.

  Purely on instinct, he turned his head and sucked that fingertip into his mouth.

  Juliana gasped. “Oh!”

  Cease, Edouard! You must! Somehow, though, the shock and delight in her voice held his will captive and forced him on.

  Grazing her skin with his teeth, he drew in more of her finger, until his upper lip touched the knuckle bone where her finger joined her hand. He twirled his tongue around her flesh, while savoring her shocked shivers.

  Her skin tasted sweet. Deliciously so. He inhaled her alluring scent that reminded him of lavender and honey. Mmm . . . Never had he known a woman to smell so good.

  “What”—Juliana breathed—“are you doing?”

  He stilled, aware of the merciless throbbing of his groin. What was he doing? He certainly wasn’t going to seduce her, although knowing Veronique, ’twas exactly what she’d intended by returning Juliana to the drafty tower after a perfumed bath.

  With a wry chuckle, he drew back, releasing her digit. “I was . . . ah . . . warming your finger.”

  The air stirred between them as she snatched her hand away. “Well, I—”

  “’Tis feeling warmer?”

  “Aye, but . . . Do you normally warm fingers that way?”

  She peered at him. He knew it. How readily he pictured her face, set in a winsome expression of both fascination and uncertainty.

  “Not always.” He smiled into the darkness. Before he could stop the reckless words, he said, “Shall I continue?”

  Her startled squawk brought silent laughter welling up inside him.
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  “Thank you, but nay. For you to heat up all of my fingers would . . . take awhile.” She sighed. “There must be better ways to get warm.”

  Ah, but there were. He knew plenty that weren’t just efficient, but highly pleasurable . . .

  No more bawdy thoughts. He hadn’t coaxed her over to this pallet to spend a lusty night together, but to offer solace, and thus, persuade her to trust him. Together, they had a better chance of surviving the ordeals ahead and escaping this tower.

  The pallet rustled, and he sensed her yanking on her blanket.

  “I know of a way for both of us to get warm,” he said.

  “I am not sucking on your fingers whilst you do so to mine.”

  He chuckled. “Nay. I will put my arm around you and draw you close.”

  “Is that wise?” Her voice sounded muffled by her blanket.

  Probably not, considering your arousal, his conscience answered. Ignoring the inner warning, he said, “Of course. By sharing our bodies’ heat, we will both become warm. ’Twill grow colder, I vow, before dawn breaks.”

  She shuddered. Her teeth were still chattering. He rose on his elbow and set his arm around her, just as she wriggled up against him.

  As he lowered his head back down onto his forearm, her breath swept against his throat. Her hair glided over his arm at her back, the softness of her tresses a stark contrast to the bite of his restraints.

  Did the iron links trailing across her waist bother her? He hoped not. There wasn’t much he could do about the wretched chain.

  “I feel warmer already,” she murmured.

  “Good.” Gladness swirled up inside him.

  She fitted her body more closely to him, an innocent gesture that, despite the blankets between them, stirred his blood and made his manhood harden all the more. How he wanted. If she realized the physical effect she had upon him, though, she’d likely scramble back to her pallet to spend the rest of the night freezing and alone.

  Carefully shifting his weight, he raised his arm, moving the right chain up and away from her, and rolled onto his back. The links settled beside him with a muffled thud; the chain now trailed along his right arm.