A Knight's Temptation (Knight's Series Book 3)

by Catherine Kean

  “Down the stairwell,” she choked out, waving to the chamber door.

  De Lanceau strode to the door and threw it wide.

  She blinked hard. She should go with him and his men, if only to support her sire. Yet as the warriors left, her feet seemed rooted to the floorboards. Her gaze riveted to the bed.

  Her father was fornicating with Veronique? “Nay,” she muttered. “Nay!”

  Someone touched her arm. Aldwin. He’d stayed behind with her.

  “The bed,” she said hoarsely. “My father . . .”

  “We do not know what happened here. Do not try to guess.”

  Aldwin’s firm voice and rational words eased her dismay. “You are right.”

  “Of course I am.”

  Her gaze flew to him, to catch his wry grin.

  “Arrogant turd,” she muttered, smiling back.

  He winked. “That is the Leona I know.”

  She balled her hands into fists. “I will find out exactly what has gone on here.” She spun toward the doorway.

  “Wait.”

  Faster than she thought possible, Aldwin cut between her and the embrasure.

  “You cannot confront Veronique,” he said.

  “Really?” Leona thrust her chin up, bringing her mouth closer to his.

  “Really. If she believes you are a threat to her, she will kill you. Challenging her is foolish.”

  “She will not murder me in my father’s keep. Not with de Lanceau’s men searching for her.” Barely holding down her temper, Leona tapped her foot. “Aldwin, if you do not move—”

  “I would rather tie you to the bed and fetch you once the fighting is over.”

  A flush skittered over her skin. The heat intensified with the darkening glint of his eyes.

  “You promised not to tie me again,” she said, rather breathlessly.

  “Regrettably, I did.” With obvious reluctance, he stepped aside.

  She rushed past him and out into the passage, where a draft swept over her. Half-listening to his brisk pursuit, she hurried past the chambers reserved for her father’s guests, now empty—

  A door immediately ahead swung open, spilling light into the corridor. Caution shrieked through her, and she lurched to a stop, a moment before Aldwin plowed into her from behind.

  “Oh!” Leona pitched forward, tripping on her gown’s hem.

  Aldwin staggered beside her, bracing his hand on the stone floor to break his fall. At the same moment, an object clattered by his feet.

  “Tye!” a woman called from within the chamber.

  A little boy raced into the corridor. Straight into Leona.

  He smacked into her legs. Wobbling, he grabbed at her cloak to steady himself and peered up at her.

  Straightening, Leona caught her breath. She’d seen this face before. While his features were softened by childish pudginess, the boy looked just like his lordship.

  She glanced at Aldwin. “Why, he resembles—”

  “De Lanceau,” Aldwin confirmed, before rising to his full height and glancing at the floor.

  His lordship was this boy’s sire? Before she could consider that thought, a young woman stomped through the doorway. “Tye! Come back—Oh, Lady Leona!”

  Leona smiled at the daughter of one of the stable hands. The young woman’s gaze slid to Aldwin, and she flushed. “I am sorry, milady,” she said. “’E is a ’andful, this ’un.”

  Still clinging to Leona’s skirt, Tye sniffled. His mouth parted on a wail.

  “Shush, now,” the woman grumbled. “Come back ta yer bed.”

  “Want Mama.”

  His forlorn cry touched Leona. She smoothed her hand through his tangled hair. “There, now. Your mother will be back soon.”

  “When?” Tears spiked his lashes.

  “Well, I—” A round object gleamed near her right boot. Did it belong to the little boy?

  Before she could pick it up, Tye pulled away from her, clapped his hand around it, and raised it to his face. “Look.”

  A piece of amber, surrounding a . . . bee!

  She choked down a shrill cry. She stumbled back, her hand at her throat, and glanced at Aldwin. The bee, held forever inside the resin, must be his.

  His mouth flattened and he nodded.

  “Bee!” Tye’s gaze brightened with awe. He ran his finger over the amber’s buckled surface, his misery forgotten.

  “’Tis not yours,” the young woman said.

  Tye frowned. “Mine!”

  “How long have you had that?” Leona whispered to Aldwin.

  “Years.” His voice sounded heavy with the weight of responsibility.

  How many years? Had he found it the day she was stung, or acquired it later? She wanted to ask more, but he motioned to the stairwell. “Come on.”

  “Your amber,” she said.

  Aldwin was already striding away.

  ***

  At a brisk pace, Aldwin approached the stairwell ahead. His face still burned. Thankfully the shadows hid his weakness, above all from her.

  He’d never meant for the amber to fall from his pocket, or for Leona to find it. He’d never wanted to frighten her, or reveal how much that incident had shaped his life, most of all his desire to break from his past dishonor. His determination had hardened like resin, while he’d fought to reach the highest honor within his grasp: knighthood.

  When Leona saw the amber, he’d felt, for a moment, as if he stood before her naked, his very soul exposed for her judgment.

  Aware of her hurrying along behind him, he forced his difficult thoughts aside. If she resented him for keeping the amber, so be it. The resin belonged to Tye now. And, as much as Aldwin cared for Leona, and as much as he longed for her respect, he’d never abandon the duty that had made him who he was.

  The pendant was somewhere here at Pryerston. He’d find it and see it delivered safely to de Lanceau.

  The stairwell’s shadows fell upon him, and he slowed, keeping a tight hold on his crossbow. The stairs were well lit, a point in his favor. If anyone tried to attack, he’d see their shadow.

  Faint footfalls sounded from lower down the stairwell. Then Aldwin heard a man’s gruff voice. His words sounded slurred.

  “Father!” Leona brushed past Aldwin into the stairwell, her cloak wafting at her ankles.

  “Wait!” Aldwin muttered, knowing even as he ran after her that she wouldn’t listen.

  Down he followed her, until the passage led into a soaring great hall illuminated by blazing torches along the walls. Smoke rose from the huge fire burning in the hearth along the far wall. Dogs peered out from under a table, near the raised dais where a gray-haired man sat in a high-backed oak chair. Several wine jugs rested beside him on the table covered with a grimy tablecloth.

  “Oh, God! Father!” Leona rushed toward the man.

  As Aldwin glanced about the rest of the hall, two of de Lanceau’s men-at-arms rose from the bodies of three mercenaries sprawled near a table, where a game of sticks lay in disarray. Judging by the fresh blood on the rushes, the mercenaries had died only moments before.

  “The hall is clear,” one of the men-at-arms called to Aldwin.

  “De Lanceau is on his way down to the bailey,” the other added.

  Aldwin nodded. Trying to tamp down the unease scuttling through him, he headed to the dais. After all of the years since Leona’s bee stings, the unanswered letters, and Ward’s passing, Aldwin would finally meet Leona’s sire. How senseless to worry what the old man thought of him, especially when Ransley could well be a traitor. Yet the past had finally caught up with all of them, a realization that brought a fresh sweat to Aldwin’s brow.

  When he drew near, he saw Lord Ransley was bound at his hands and feet to the chair. Aldwin blinked against the overpowering stench of wine, sweat, and heaven knew what else.

  “Who did this to you, Father?” With a strangled sob, Leona stepped onto the dais.

  Ransley looked up. His bleary eyes struggled to focus. “Leona?”
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  “Aye.” She threw herself against him and buried her face in his hair.

  His eyes closed, and his grizzled features softened with gut-wrenching relief and joy. Unwelcome envy tugged at Aldwin; he forced himself to look away.

  “Thank God you are sshafe,” Ransley said hoarsely.

  She sniffled and eased back. “Why are you tied to this chair? Who dared to do this to you?”

  “Veronique.” Ransley’s lips twisted. “Dangerous.” His gaze filled with concern. “Leona, sshe is looking for you—”

  “We must untie you.”

  Ransley frowned. “Sshe will know you are here. Leona—”

  She caught his face in her hands. “There are two men-at-arms keeping watch by the stairwell. ’Twill be all right. We will explain once you are free.”

  Stepping forward to the edge of the dais, Aldwin handed over his knife.

  With a grateful smile, Leona took the dagger and cut the ropes. The bindings tumbled to the floor.

  Ransley groaned as his arms fell back into their natural positions. “Thank you.” He rubbed at his wrists gouged by the bindings.

  “Can you stand?” Leona asked.

  With an unsteady nod, Ransley lurched to his feet. He flattened his hands on the table, while his body swayed from side to side. As he gathered his balance, his gaze settled again on her. “Where have you been?”

  Aldwin sensed her disappointment in the stiffening of her spine.

  “When Twig and Sshir Reginald came russhing into this hall, sshaying you had been kidnapped from sshome tavern by one of de Lanceau’s men—”

  “’Tis true.”

  Leona’s attention slid to Aldwin. Without looking away, he repositioned the quiver on his shoulder. Whatever she told her sire about her abduction, Aldwin would answer to it.

  “You took the pendant, assh well.”

  “Aye. After overhearing your meeting with the baron and Veronique—”

  “You lisshtened? Why, you—”

  “I decided since the jewel rightfully belonged to de Lanceau, it should be given to him. I arranged the tavern meeting.”

  “You put yoursshelf in danger, assh well assh Twig and Sshir Reginald. What a foolissh, rassh thing to do!” He wavered while he thrust an unsteady finger. “Did you know Veronique hassh a reward out for you, Daughter?”

  Leona’s gaze sharpened and her chin raised. Aldwin almost laughed; he’d seen that reaction often in the past days. “I am sorry to have worried you, but ’twas the best decision for all at Pryerston. Father, you must listen—”

  “Lisshen?” he roared. “I want the basshtard who abducted you.”

  “Father—”

  “Where issh he?”

  Aldwin fought a crushing sense of inevitability. “I am here, milord.”

  Ransley’s head swung and he glared at Aldwin. “You?” He slammed his hand down on the table, knocking the earthenware jugs together. “You dare to sshtep within my keep? You will sshtand before me with that sshmirk on your lips? Why did you come? To demand a ransshom for my daughter’ssh return? Well, you will not get one.”

  “Father, if you will listen—”

  “To what?” He threw up his hand. “Next, you will be sshaying he lay with you and that ’tissh perfectly acceptable!”

  Aldwin bit back a curse.

  Leona’s face clouded with an expression of such anguish, Aldwin wanted to slip his arm around her. He should have guessed Ransley would believe Leona had been violated; any father would think such. Because of Ransley’s assumption, Aldwin stayed as he was—although he yearned all the more to draw her close and comfort her.

  “Lay with me, Father?” Leona said in a whisper-thin voice. “As you did with Veronique?”

  Ransley’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the solar.” Her body trembled through a shudder. “Her gown by the bed.”

  “Do you really believe I would . . .” Ransley shook his head. “I would never betray your mother that way. I sshwear to you, I have not been to the ssholar in dayssh. Veronique and the baron must have sshlept there, while I”—he flinched—“wassh tied to my chair.”

  “While she kept you drunk,” Leona said, “and threatened to kill anyone who helped you.”

  Remorse tightened his features. He glanced at the nearby jugs and swallowed, as though he craved a drink.

  “Father, nay.”

  Ransley scowled.

  “No more drink,” Leona said.

  The hurt in Leona’s voice roused fierce protectiveness within Aldwin. Did her sire not see how his drunkenness had hurt Leona? Did he not realize how much ruin he’d caused, when, as lord, he was responsible for the welfare of all within his jurisdiction—especially that of his daughter?

  When Ransley didn’t draw his gaze from the jugs, Aldwin leveled his crossbow. “Listen to her.”

  Ransley lifted his brows, for the weapon pointed at his chest. “You bold knave. You dare to threaten me?” He raised his hand.

  “N—” Leona cried.

  A click, and the bolt leapt from the crossbow. Ransley gasped. The bolt slammed into the jugs, sending them smashing together. Wine sprayed. Bits of pottery scattered across the table and onto the rushes.

  The men-at-arms whistled.

  Wine running down his hair, face, and tunic, Ransley blinked at Aldwin. “Who in hellfire are you?”

  “Aldwin Treynarde, milord.”

  Wiping his face with his sleeve, Ransley froze. “Treynarde, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  “His skill with the crossbow is hailed in a chanson,” Leona said, glancing at Aldwin. A smile touched her mouth, a sign she approved of his dramatics.

  Grinning in return, Aldwin looked back at her sire. Instead of the awe or anger Aldwin expected, sadness shadowed Ransley’s face. He stared down at the filthy tablecloth as though his thoughts had slipped back into the past. “I know the name well, and not because of the chanson.”

  A frown creased Leona’s brow. “How—? Wait. You met Aldwin after I was stung. You saw him when you carried me away from the river.”

  Ransley nodded. Still, Aldwin sensed he wasn’t thinking of that tragedy, but one more recent: Ward’s death.

  He didn’t want to discuss Ward; later, when Pryerston was in de Lanceau’s control, Aldwin might venture down that painful path. “Since you know who I am,” Aldwin said, “you also realize I fight for Moydenshire’s lord, Geoffrey de Lanceau. He is here—”

  Ransley’s eyes flared. “At Pryersshton?”

  “Aye, Father. He has come to save the keep.”

  With a low cry, Ransley swept his hand over his soiled tunic.

  Before Aldwin could ask Ransley about Veronique and the baron’s whereabouts, Leona caught her sire’s hands. “Please, help us get the pendant for de Lanceau. Help us take Pryerston back from the baron and Veronique. ’Tis what Mother would have wanted. So would Ward.”

  Ransley’s mouth pinched. “Of all the moments to speak of your brother.”

  “If he were here now, he would pick up a sword, join de Lanceau’s men, and fight.”

  Aldwin shifted his attention to the men-at-arms, who were clearly listening to the exchange while keeping watch on the entry to the hall. Looking at them was far easier than seeing in Ransley’s gaze an acknowledgment of Ward’s demise.

  “Why do you look so?” Leona demanded.

  Aldwin glanced back. Moisture glistened in Ransley’s eyes. Wavering, he straightened away from the table.

  “What have you not told me about Ward?”

  “Leona,” Aldwin said, determined to stay focused on his duty, “we cannot discuss such now. We need to get the pendant. Lord Ransley, where should we start—”

  A crash echoed in the stairwell: a door slamming against a wall.

  Leona jumped. Her fingers tightened on the knife she still held.

  The men-at-arms raised their swords.

  Ransley bent and snatched up a section of his cut bonds.
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  Footsteps sounded in the stairwell leading up from the bailey. Over shouts, clashing swords, and other battle noises floating up from outside, Aldwin determined that several people approached.

  Friends? Or enemies?

  “Stay behind the table,” Aldwin snapped to Leona, as he cocked his crossbow.

  The whistle of a crossbow bolt came from the stairwell. One of de Lanceau’s men cried out as the bolt pierced his chest and jutted from his back. He staggered backward before collapsing on the floor.

  The other man-at-arms raised his sword. Five men wearing boiled leather hauberks—mercenaries—rushed into the hall. Aldwin raised his crossbow, aimed, and shot one of them. But the man-at-arms was quickly overpowered and fell to the rushes, dead.

  “God’s blood,” Aldwin muttered, reloading his weapon.

  “Aldwin,” Leona cried.

  As he raised the crossbow, he became aware of the unnatural silence. The mercenaries had quit fighting? Why?

  He caught the cloying essence of rosewater.

  Her crimson-painted lips easing into a smile, Veronique stood in the great hall, surrounded by more mercenaries. She’d raised one slender hand in clear command to hold fire. Her other hand gripped a bloody dagger. More blood spattered across her snug-fitting gown.

  Close behind her stood Baron Sedgewick. His sword glistened with blood, and, as his gaze settled on Aldwin, he grinned.

  “Aldwin. Leona,” Veronique murmured. “How perfect to find you here.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sweat dampened Aldwin’s hands, but he refused to look away from Veronique’s cold stare. In the instant before their gazes met, he’d noticed her face had aged a bit since he saw her years ago, but her chestnut brown hair was still long and lustrous, her body as supple as a young woman’s.

  Many men would find her desirable. Beautiful, even. Those fools couldn’t sense the malevolence surrounding her like a dark veil. The sensual way her fingers curled around the knife handle—a kind of perverse caress—made goose bumps ripple across his skin.

  She wouldn’t hesitate to use that dagger again. On him, Leona, or Lord Ransley. Or anyone else she deemed a threat to her ambitions.