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

by Catherine Kean

  She spun to look down at the bailey. “Good-bye, Geoffrey.”

  “Nay—!” De Lanceau grabbed for her.

  She jumped.

  “God’s teeth!” Dominic gasped. Juliana raced with him to the side of the battlement, where de Lanceau peered down, shaking his head.

  Far down in the bailey, Veronique tried to rise from where she’d fallen onto several dead servants. Grimacing, her movements slow and her left arm listing at an odd angle, she pushed to her knees.

  “She cannot get away,” de Lanceau growled and gestured to two of his men-at-arms.

  The men ran for the stairwell.

  Steel clashed close by, and Juliana again looked at the two brothers, still fighting. Sweat dripped from their faces. Had Edouard suffered any wounds? She hoped not.

  “Yield, Tye,” de Lanceau yelled. “The battle is over.” He signaled to Edouard. Reluctance tautened Edouard’s features, but he stepped away from Tye, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. He did not, however, lower his sword.

  Juliana forced herself to remain still, although she longed to throw herself into Edouard’s arms.

  Tye’s gaze sharpened as he looked at Dominic, de Lanceau, and the man-at-arms, then at the empty space where Veronique had stood moments before. “Where—?”

  “Your mother leapt over the side,” de Lanceau said. “She abandoned you.”

  “What?” Edging sideways, his sword ready to deflect any assault, he approached the gap. Bracing his left hand on the merlon beside him, he leaned slightly backward over the edge to glance down; he clearly didn’t want to turn his back to his foes. Juliana sensed the moment he saw Veronique. His lips flattened.

  “She is wounded,” de Lanceau said. “She cannot get far. My men will take her prisoner.”

  “And?” Tye dared another look at the bailey. The awkward position forced him to strain his body backward. If he lost his balance . . .

  “She will be imprisoned in my dungeon. I will see her brought to trial—”

  A strangled sound, akin to a curse, broke from Tye. His body wavered, as though buffeted by a breeze, and then his sword pitched downward. Even as Juliana wondered why, she realized he’d lost his grip on the merlon.

  “Tye!” she and Dominic called in unison. She ran to the wall walk’s edge, aware of the man-at-arms following close behind.

  Tye’s sword clattered on the stone near them.

  With a guttural cry, he dropped from view.

  “Oh, God,” Juliana cried, peering over the edge. Muttering under his breath, de Lanceau elbowed aside the man-at-arms and stood in the windblown gap.

  “Tye!” His roar spread down over the bailey.

  As Juliana’s gaze slid toward the ground, movement and a choked breath snared her attention. She barely held back a horrified moan. Just a short reach away, Tye dangled from the wall walk by one hand.

  “Father!” Edouard shouted.

  “I see him.” Boots scraped as de Lanceau knelt and reached down. “Give me your hand, Tye,” he said roughly. He sounded as though he fought intense emotion.

  Sweat streamed from Tye’s face. His lips pulled away from his teeth as he said, “Why?”

  “I will save you.”

  A sob jammed in Juliana’s throat. Take the offer of help, Tye. Take it!

  Tye’s weight-bearing arm began to tremble. Bitterness contorted his features into a mask of anguish. “Why bother to rescue me? I am naught to you. You wish I had never been born. What do you care, Father, if I fall and die?”

  An expression close to pain flickered across his lordship’s features, before it disappeared behind stern resolve. “Take my hand. I will pull you up.”

  Do not be a stubborn fool, Tye. Accept his help!

  Tye’s throat moved with a swallow. “You want to save me because . . . I am your son?”

  Torment darkened de Lanceau’s eyes. His jaw hardened. “I save you because there is honor even between enemies.”

  Tye’s white-knuckled fingers began to slip from the stone.

  “Hurry!” de Lanceau yelled. “For God’s sake!”

  Tye grinned, a hateful, almost sad twist of his lips, and plummeted toward the ground.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Tye survived the fall,” Edouard said, just as his father exhaled a sigh and rose.

  “He is injured.” Juliana’s voice cracked, implying she hated to see Tye hurt. Edouard struggled to control a flare of jealousy and dismay.

  Pain contorted Tye’s features as he pushed up from the dirt. He stumbled to his feet, wavering for a moment like a drunkard. Even as Edouard acknowledged his bastard brother’s survival, a sense of relief rushed through him. ’Twas ridiculous, since he despised Tye. But he couldn’t deny that the haunted look in Tye’s eyes, in the tense moments before he’d fallen, had affected him.

  “Tye and Veronique will try and escape,” his sire said, his tone rough. “I will not allow it. Dominic.”

  “Aye, milord?”

  “I want both of them captured, bound, and well guarded. Tell the other men fighting in the bailey. I will join you there in a moment.”

  Dominic nodded, then ran to the stairwell and disappeared inside.

  Flexing his hand on his sword, Edouard tried to tamp down a rising sense of misgiving. He should follow Dominic and help secure the bailey; ’tis what was expected of him as a future heir, especially when the din rising from below indicated that the battle, while less frenzied than before, was still ongoing.

  Heading to the bailey, though, would mean Juliana was out of his sight. He’d almost lost her a short while ago. Watching her confront death had nearly ripped his soul from his chest. He couldn’t leave her, not with Veronique and Tye still to be captured. Not when he’d come to realize how much he loved her.

  “Father,” he began, “I—”

  His sire, wiping his brow, swayed, as though about to topple over.

  “Lord de Lanceau!” Juliana cried.

  Lunging forward at the same time as the man-at-arms, Edouard readied to grab his sire’s arm and prop him upright if need be. “Father, what is wrong? Were you wounded?”

  Refusing assistance with a wave of his hand, de Lanceau steadied himself and drew in a few strong breaths. “I am not injured. I am not fully recovered from my illness, ’tis all.”

  “You should sit for a moment. Regain your strength.”

  His sire grunted. “Edouard, you sound just like your mother.”

  “She is a clever woman. And always right.” Edouard couldn’t resist a grin.

  His sire’s lips tilted in a grudging smile before he glanced down into the bailey. Frowning, he shook his head. “I will not rest. Not before Tye and Veronique are my prisoners. Not before this keep is secured to my satisfaction.”

  Protest welled inside Edouard. His sire looked exhausted. His reactions could be impeded; he might make a grave error during the fighting and be injured or killed. But even as the words gathered on Edouard’s tongue, he forced them to silence. His father was a proud man and far too stubborn to yield to any infirmity. Moreover, his warrior’s sense of duty was too tightly woven into his nature, his hatred for Veronique too ingrained, for him to consider quitting the battle now.

  How well Edouard knew his father’s reasons, for those would be his reasons, too, if he were in his parent’s place.

  “I will gladly fight alongside you and Dominic, Father,” Edouard said. He looked at Juliana. “But there is an important matter I vow should be attended to first.”

  “What matter?” While his sire spoke, he tightened his grip on his broadsword. A muscle jumped in his cheek, a sign he was eager to join the fight.

  “Landon Ferchante’s gold ring—the one you entrusted to him—is hidden in the solar. Veronique and Tye wanted to get hold of that ring and use it to gain admittance to your court and then murder you.”

  His sire’s gaze sharpened. “You were right to mention this to me.”

  “Juliana is the only one who
knows where the jewels are hidden,” Edouard said.

  “Mayda told me days before she died, milord,” Juliana said. “Before her lord husband pushed her off the wall walk and killed her.”

  “Landon? God’s blood! Are you sure?”

  She nodded, grief in her gaze. “I witnessed her murder, milord. That is why I was hit about the head and left for dead in the river.”

  “What of the newborn? Is she here? Safe?”

  “Veronique ordered Rosemary killed. Azarel managed to get her to safety in the village. Milord, there is a great deal more I must tell you, especially concerning Landon’s affair with Veronique and her influence at the keep.”

  “Veronique murdered Landon,” Edouard added. “He tried to contact you, Father, after I was taken captive, and she found out.”

  His sire clenched his free hand into a fist. “Azarel mentioned Landon’s killing to me. ’Tis yet another crime for which Veronique will be punished. Once this fight is won, I want full accounts from both of you. What you say will be documented, for the day she is brought to trial. Meanwhile, Juliana, I want you to go to the solar.” He pointed to the remaining man-at-arms. “He will escort you, and I will send more warriors to stand guard with him outside the chamber. Lock the door. Do not recover the jewels. Do not open the door, either, till you hear three knocks and either my voice or Edouard’s beyond.”

  “Aye, milord.” She dipped in a curtsey.

  “Thank you, Lady de Greyne, for all your help,” Edouard’s father said. Looking over at Kaine, he said, “I will send reinforcements to help you defend the wall walk. Edouard, come with me.”

  When his sire strode for the stairwell, Edouard loped after him. The thrill of battle licked like greedy fire in his blood, tempered, though, by worry for Juliana. Soon she’d be gone from his sight.

  As he brushed past her, he slowed, touched her arm. “Be careful. Promise me.” There is so much I will say to you, Juliana, once this is over.

  Her eyes bright, she whispered, “I promise.”

  ***

  Juliana hurried into the stairwell’s shadows. With the man-at-arms leading the way, they proceeded to the solar with the same caution Edouard had taken when they’d escaped from the tower.

  How eerily quiet the passageways seemed, almost as though the keep had been abandoned. A good sign, she decided, as they neared the corridor leading to the solar. Most of the castle folk must be in the bailey, fighting to save Waddesford.

  After halting before the iron-banded door of the solar, the man-at-arms leaned close to it and listened. Apart from her own breathing, Juliana heard only the crackle of the passageway torches.

  The man thrust up a staying hand, and she nodded, recognizing his order to stay still and silent. They must be careful. Veronique, realizing she was defeated, could have ordered her thugs to gather her belongings and steal whatever else in the chamber was of value. The thick door might be muffling the sounds inside, and thus Juliana would be walking into danger.

  Inhaling a steadying breath, she pondered how Edouard would enter the solar. The image of him striding out of the shadowed far stairwell into the sunlit bailey—bold, determined, and without the slightest trace of fear—filled her mind. He wouldn’t hesitate to barge through the doorway. This warrior would likely do the same.

  The man-at-arms pushed down the iron handle and shoved the door open. It swung wide and, with the jarred squeak of hinges, slammed against the wall. Keeping his back to the panel, his hands on his sword, he darted inside, then returned a few moments later and bowed to her. “’Tis deserted, milady.”

  Deserted except for the scent of Veronique’s rosewater. “Thank you,” Juliana said. She strode in, pushed the door shut, and locked it, as Lord de Lanceau had commanded.

  The stillness of the chamber settled around her like a weighty cloak as she glanced about. Mayda’s musical laughter, soothing murmurs, and anguished sobs lingered in the shadows along with Rosemary’s hungry cries. The essence of these memories was intensely poignant. Was it only days ago that Mayda had died?

  Eyes stinging, Juliana looked at the rumpled sheets on the bed, silk garments heaped on the floor, and numerous pots and grooming items strewn across the trestle table. Her mouth tightened on a painful flare of rage. How thoroughly Veronique had claimed the space that belonged to the lady of the keep.

  “No longer,” she said firmly. “Never. Again.”

  For Mayda, for Rosemary, she’d vanquish every trace of Veronique’s presence here.

  Juliana crossed to the bed, grabbed a feather pillow, and yanked off the linen case. Her hands itched to smash into it all those precious pots of creams Veronique coveted, to snap the comb into tiny pieces, to destroy every tool of seduction Veronique had used to manipulate Landon and many other men to her will.

  As Juliana turned to the trestle table, faint sounds of battle carried from the shuttered window. She moved to it and threw the shutters open, letting in a breeze. While she couldn’t see much of the fighting, shouts, hoarse cries, and clashes of metal rose to her. Somewhere, down in the chaos, Edouard was fighting with his sire.

  Oh, Edouard. Please stay safe. I cannot wait to see you again.

  Her worry for him grew, and she took herself away from the torment of the cacophony. She must keep busy, do what she could here to restore peace and order to the castle, and get rid of Veronique’s influence.

  Juliana crossed to the table, opened the pillowcase, and began to stuff items inside. Soon, the case bulged, and she fetched another from the bed. Once the tabletop was cleared, she walked about the solar, snatching up any items she didn’t recognize as belonging to Landon or Mayda.

  Later, she must pack up their belongings, as well as her own. The task would have to be done anyway, since a new lord would shortly be appointed to rule Waddesford Keep and he’d be moving into the chamber.

  Some moments later, she removed the dirty bedding and dumped it by the door, then dropped the filled pillowcases with the linens. When the battle was over, she’d see all of Veronique’s items destroyed. Every last one.

  Savoring a heady sense of satisfaction, she walked to the center of the room, set her hands on her hips, and looked about to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. As her gaze traveled over the bed, a small object glinted behind one of the rear legs. She went to the bed, stooped, and, with a strangled gasp, picked up the silver baby rattle.

  Hands shaking, she stood and looked up at the shadowed ceiling. “As soon as I can, I will find Rosemary, Mayda,” she whispered. “Wherever we end up living, she will be well cared for. I swear it.”

  A breeze whispered in through the window. Juliana stilled. She no longer heard the noises of battle.

  Hope soared within her. Did that mean . . ?

  Three brisk knocks sounded on the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  With a brutal roar, Edouard plunged his sword into the mercenary’s gut. He recognized the thug who’d helped drag him up to the tower and force him into chains. Moments ago, the fool had tried to sneak up and stab him in the back. A deceitful attack.

  Grunting in pain, the mercenary tried to lash at Edouard with his dagger, but the blade skated on the chain mail hauberk Edouard had stripped from one of his sire’s fallen knights and donned earlier in the battle. Standing firm, his breath rasping through his teeth, Edouard held the mercenary’s murderous, dulling stare until the thug slid sideways to the ground, dead.

  Yanking his sword free of the corpse, Edouard spun on his heel and assessed the fighting around him. Before this mercenary had become separated from his cohorts, he’d been among a protective group encircling Tye and Veronique. Despite her abandonment of Tye on the wall walk, they seemed to have decided that fighting together was their only hope of escape.

  A futile hope. They were clearly defeated.

  Edouard’s father, Dominic, and at least twenty knights surrounded the villains, their swords flashing in furious strokes as they fought the mercenaries of the group who rem
ained alive. Tye also wielded a sword he must have taken from one of the dead. His face white with pain, he hobbled on an injured leg, while he slashed the blade at the advancing warriors. He wouldn’t be able to keep up his fight for long.

  Step by step, the warriors edged forward, tightening the entrapment while forcing the villains back against the bailey wall.

  Capturing them, Edouard noted, appeared all that was left before his sire claimed victory. Bodies were scattered across the ground and, in places, slumped over the edge of the wall walk. Near the entrance to the dungeon, prisoners, mainly mercenaries, were being bound and kept in order by Aldwin and more men-at-arms. The drawbridge and entrance to the forebuilding were heavily guarded; Tye and Veronique couldn’t get in or out of the castle even if, by remote chance, they escaped the attacking warriors.

  “Fight harder, idiots,” Veronique shrieked over the din of colliding swords. Agony distorting her features, hair a snarled mess, she cradled her broken arm against her bosom. “Think of the gold I will pay you!”

  “Surrender,” Edouard’s father yelled back. “You cannot escape.”

  “He lies!” Spittle glistened on Veronique’s smeared lips.

  “Heed me well,” de Lanceau bellowed, his words carrying across the bailey. “My knights control every way in and out of this keep. Lay down your weapons. Yield to my men. Refuse, and you will die.”

  “Fight!” Veronique screamed.

  With a grisly cry, another of her mercenaries collapsed to the dirt.

  Edouard glowered at her, focusing all of his hatred of the past days upon her. You will yield, Veronique, as my father commanded. On my honor, as a knight, I will see it done. Adjusting his grip on his sword, he crossed the blood-soaked ground to join the fight.

  Anticipation humming in his blood, his gaze locked with Tye’s. Rage and loathing blazed in Tye’s eyes. He spun away, swiftly deflecting a blow from a man-at-arms.

  Edouard’s sire stepped back from the fray and wiped his brow. His chest rising and falling with exertion, he glanced at Edouard, clearly sensing his approach.