Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Annie Burrows

  Maybe they couldn’t.

  His eyes were the size of the moon and his hand gripped his forearm where... She was right. His hand was gripping his arm, right where she’d touched him. His knuckles were white.

  With anger?

  Was he injured and she’d inadvertently harmed him?

  ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Did I hurt you?’

  He said nothing, but his eyes grew intent. She felt terrible.

  She grabbed his fingers to pull his hand away. ‘Here, let me see it.’

  She didn’t know what she’d do, but there she’d been, laughing because she couldn’t harm him, and then she had. She was worried, terrified, but this man hadn’t done anything to her and here she was—

  ‘No,’ he said, and pulled his hand away from her.

  All the while he kept his gaze on her. His hands were rough, his fingers felt thick, but his touch was inordinately gentle.

  It was his voice, though, that made her shiver. Deep, gruff. Exactly the voice she’d expected from a man with shoulders that could protect her from a storm.

  She held still. ‘Say something else.’

  He stared at her so hard she thought he would see to the other side of her before that corner of his mouth quirked again. Was he trying to smile but couldn’t?

  ‘No,’ he repeated.

  Something came over her. Something that wanted him to smile. What was wrong with her? She didn’t need to laugh with this man or ask if he was hurt. His hair might be wet as if was like everyone else who bathed, and he might look vaguely annoyed rather than cruel, but she needed to escape!

  As if he’d guessed her thoughts, he abruptly let her hand free and pointed again.

  Resolved to do what she must, she continued down the corridor. Before she closed the garderobe door, though, she said, ‘And you’ll stand out here? Then take me to that room and lock me in?’

  When he crossed his arms, she answered herself.

  ‘Of course you will.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Evrart closed the door to the chamber he’d left Margery in and opened the adjacent one.

  He wasn’t surprised that Ian was already at his desk. He’d heard noises down the corridor when Margery had been in the garderobe, and Ian spent most of his time behind that table, scribbling on parchment or standing at the few windows surrounding it.

  ‘What is it, Evrart?’

  Evrart knew better than to answer. Ian was too manipulative with conversations. Evrart might say he liked the colour blue, but Ian would construe that to mean he liked the colours of another family. Back home, he’d taken after his mother and been the quietest of his siblings, but now he knew silence was how he stayed alive and kept his family safe.

  Ian wrote his message and handed it to the man standing patiently by his side. Evrart waited until that nameless man had left the room before he looked again at Ian, who had leaned back in his chair.

  Evrart stayed still.

  ‘This is about my mistress,’ said Ian.

  Evrart nodded.

  ‘You secured all the doors?’

  As much as he could. All the rooms here, save for his, were Ian’s private chambers, most of those were connected by inner doors. Some hallway doors had locks, one did not. She was in the locked room next to this one, which was also attached to his. Something that shouldn’t have mattered but did. He felt her there.

  He nodded again.

  ‘You have questions on my wants and needs?’

  No, but he did have questions of his own. She’d touched him—freely, and without an agenda. And she’d looked at him as if he was no different from the cordwainer, who was half his size. That kitten had received more of her attention than he.

  It had been...startling. But that didn’t compare with when she’d laughed, her eyes filled with fear, and he had felt that need to protect. He’d leaned away, to put some distance between them, but the brush of her fingers against his had riveted him next to her. Made his body burn and made him question if he had any reason.

  She was danger—or she brought danger. She wouldn’t be in a Warstone fortress, as a prisoner of Ian’s, if she wasn’t, and yet... He knew if she touched him again, he’d let her. He’d never been so irrational before. He was questioning himself on his response to Ian’s mistress, but he wouldn’t ever question Ian. He wasn’t a fool.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘This is about your role.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  He shouldn’t be anyone’s guard except Ian’s. Until this last year he’d hardly left Ian’s side. Now his men questioned his position and his role in this fortress. If Evrart was Ian’s personal guard, how could he be left behind? Almost worse was the rumour that he’d fallen out of favour with the Lord of Warstone. Not that Evrart cared for idle gossip, but his job of training the Warstone soldiers was made easier if they believed he had Lord Warstone’s ear.

  If the guards questioned him, he quickly met them in the lists, but still... He might not like his role in this household, but it was his role, and he would do it well until he could find an end to it.

  Ian steepled his hands. ‘You didn’t question me in front of my men when I told you to bring her to my rooms.’

  ‘No,’ he replied. Again, he knew when to keep his silence, and was rewarded when Ian’s mouth curved into a smile.

  ‘After all these years...still saying so few words to me,’ Ian said. ‘Did it ever occur to you that if you said more, I might let you go. I do like to understand my guards, and at this pace I’ll never understand you.’

  A rhetorical remark Evrart would never answer.

  Ian did flash a grin, but then his brows drew in and he looked to the side.

  Evrart stood his ground. Ian hadn’t been stable for many years, and his condition had rapidly deteriorated since he’d packed up his wife and two children and deposited them in an undisclosed location. He’d always liked Séverine and Clovis, and the infant Pepin was adored by all. But it had been years since anyone had seen them. Ian’s thoughts weren’t good, and since last year, they had grown darker yet. Right now, Ian could order his death or ask him to play chess.

  When his gaze slid back to Evrart, he looked no more or less like a cunning wolf.

  ‘She interrupted me when I was persuading a messenger to gather information whilst a certain man was suitably occupied. The task of delivering a message she had no issues with—the method of getting the information she refused. Naturally, she had to be persuaded... Margery happened upon me during our negotiations.’

  Did that mean Margery wasn’t his mistress but was inadvertently involved in a Warstone scheme? No wonder she’d fought being locked in a room. No wonder she’d given such a fearful laugh. That didn’t excuse his response to her, though...

  ‘You look surprised,’ Ian said.

  He looked no such thing. He knew better than that. But then this could be simply another rhetorical question.

  ‘I, too, am surprised not to have killed her. I actually had to negotiate with Roul for her services.’

  That grabbed Evrart’s attention. Roul was the youngest son of a noble family and he amused Ian. Evrart couldn’t recall what he looked like because his face was always buried in some woman’s breasts.

  And this Margery had been under his care? Was Roul the reason she frequently looked over her shoulder?

  ‘Said he won her in a game of chance, but that man can never be trusted. Still, it was a fool who lost one such as she, since she is utterly beautiful—don’t you agree?’

  When people talked of beauty, Evrart never saw it. He looked at form, or deeds, and since he’d become older, he’d realised he had another skill most did not have. He could determine someone’s character. He had known immediately not to work for Ian of Warstone, but being able to determine character did not mean he had any power.

&n
bsp; He wondered if this Margery had any power. Had the scheme being played started with Ian or Roul? Because Ian, one of the worst men Evrart had ever known, thought Roul couldn’t be trusted.

  The woman appeared innocent, but she couldn’t be if she was Roul’s mistress. This would bear some thought.

  ‘Her beauty, whether it exists or does not, isn’t my concern,’ he said. ‘My concern is my duties. For ten years I have trained the men you have brought into your home. Even now you have brought new recruits. Now you have asked me to oversee a mere woman. I simply want to understand my role.’

  Ian shook his head. ‘I truly don’t understand your preference in women, nor why you cannot see beauty. I am happily married, but to call Margery “a mere woman” is astounding. As to the rest—your role is to ensure she doesn’t talk. To anyone. She can use Jeanne for a servant, but that is the only person she’s to have contact with.’

  ‘Is she to remain in your chambers?’

  They were large and consisted of several rooms. When Ian was in residence he often stayed in the rooms and didn’t venture to the Great Hall for meals. Busy with schemes, and untrusting, he rarely interacted with anyone in residence.

  Ian nodded. ‘Tomorrow I will be journeying. I’d like to see my children soon.’

  Evrart looked out through the window behind Ian as quickly as he could. There was no hiding his surprise this time. As far as he knew Ian had tried a few times, unsuccessfully, to find his wife, but now he seemed certain. He could be wrong, but—

  ‘Oh, you are very surprised!’ Ian chuckled. ‘You should be. There will be changes soon, though I’d wish for it differently. My brother is forcing my hand.’

  Evrart swung his gaze back. Talking with Ian was like fighting a bog. ‘Is she to begin these...changes?’

  ‘No, but that is an interesting proposition. Do you think her beauty would be enough?’

  Evrart said nothing. A bog would be less murky than Ian’s thoughts, and he’d be foolish to step into either one.

  ‘Quiet again... You are fascinating. I do wish you’d give me some suggestion whether you think her suitable or not.’

  Suitable for...him? If she was beautiful, as Ian purported her to be, she wouldn’t be suitable for—

  Ian shoved back his chair and stood, then looked down at his desk and swept everything off to crash on the floor. The ink arced for a moment, but the pot stayed intact.

  Brows drown, Ian tsked and picked it up to set it back on the desk. ‘I hate wasting words.’

  Evrart stayed still.

  ‘They’re all wasted now—did you know? That fool of an Englishman my parents hired lost the dagger again. Not his fault, he told them. How could he know it had been switched? That red-haired clan figured it out, but they don’t have it either. No one does. And that’s supposed to comfort me because Reynold doesn’t have it. But he’s after it—so where’s the comfort in that?’

  Evrart felt the blood drain from his body, and nothing but instinct kept his legs holding him up. Ten years with this family. Ten years during which he had heard of their schemes and their pursuit of the Jewell of Kings—a gem that was hidden inside a hollow-handled dagger. It was a legend like Excalibur...like the Holy Grail. Whoever held the Jewell of Kings held the power of Scotland.

  It was a story. The Warstones, even the King of England, believed it. Evrart liked the story, and didn’t like to think of Ian’s mutterings about a treasure and a parchment safely hidden being part of it, though he knew it was.

  A treasure? He didn’t want to think of the Warstones gaining more wealth for more power.

  And truly he wasn’t supposed to know that the Warstones were after any of it. Ian had never, not once, spoken of it directly to him before. What would the Warstones do to his mother and sister when they realised that he had?

  Ian tsked again. Shook his head. ‘Lost! And now it may be too late for me. At least there are a few things I can do to catch my parents unawares, but I have planning to do for that... I do.’ Striding towards the door, he added, ‘Get someone to clean that up. Keep her in my chambers. She’s not to go anywhere. Anywhere.’

  Evrart needed to find his voice. ‘The garderobe?’ She’d asked for it once; she’d ask for it again.

  ‘This is why I like you. Specific. She can go there, but you’re to accompany her.’

  Evrart swallowed hard. ‘At my own convenience?’

  Ian’s expression turned dark, but Evrart held firm. The men already questioned his position, if he had to stop for a woman’s needs, he couldn’t keep order.

  ‘You have new men and they need to be trained, my lord,’ he added.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Ian said. ‘Again you prove to me why I keep you. And I like it that she is to be restricted. It might prove to be amusing.’ Ian eyed Evrart. ‘And if you don’t see her beauty now, I’m certain you will soon. There may be many interesting things whilst I am gone...’

  The hint of speculation in Warstone’s eyes didn’t bode well for him, but at least he strode out the door without another incident.

  Evrart looked at the wrecked room. There were other signs that Ian’s temper wasn’t controllable. There were slashed cushions on the bench under the window. He wondered whether the messenger had been privy to that display—if it had been a warning to him to ensure the scroll was delivered.

  What would Margery think of this room?

  Evrart looked at the thick wooden door that led to her bedroom. Silently, he stepped towards it, fisted his hand and thumped it.

  A gasp and a scurry of feet.

  Just as he’d thought. His instinct told him she was innocent. She’d seemed distraught, and she’d kept looking behind her as if an enemy was at her back. Maybe she had been forced to come here...but maybe not. Her innocence didn’t accord with the Warstones and their schemes.

  And Ian... He was acting as if he didn’t quite know what to do with her, but he had brought her here to his home. To be here, she must be tied into Ian’s need for power and information. It couldn’t be simply that she’d come across Ian threatening a messenger. He would have killed her otherwise.

  Unless she truly was that beautiful...

  Was that why the courtyard had been full of such surprise and chatter? For beauty? Evrart couldn’t imagine such a trivial thing holding so much sway. No. This was about Ian, whose intentions were layered and far too vast for him to make mere conjectures.

  And her? What innocent would press her ears to doors to hear private conversations? Had she heard anything?

  He didn’t know!

  Evrart was tempted to storm into her room and demand answers, but his duties awaited. And, in truth, it would be safer to wait.

  He’d been careful all these years to keep himself and his family safe; he would continue to be so. Despite her size, and the fear in her eyes, despite what he thought she might be, he’d wait.

  He hadn’t been around Ian for so long without picking up skills besides his ability to judge character. This woman changed matters around here. He didn’t know how, or why, but she was outside the realm of what had been occurring for ten years. Ten years during which he’d been away from his family and from the life he wanted.

  If Ian was keeping her, it was for something. And now that Ian was leaving again, it was up to Evrart to find out why she was here, and if she was useful to him.

  Because if there was any means to get home, he’d take it. If only for the fact he could bathe in peace again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Margery faced the bed, the window, the door. Then faced them again. It had been five days since Evrart had waved her in here, and she had willingly walked across the threshold. The room was more than comfortable, and no luxury had been spared; however, five days with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company wasn’t good.

  She worried over those letters she’d sent. Now she was he
re, she saw the futility of her brothers trying to help her at all. And how long would the words she’d sent her sister Biedeluue hold her back?

  Her siblings were all she had. Her father had walked away when she was just an infant and her mother, already frail from births and grief, had never recovered. She had been broken in both body and soul. As a consequence, Biedeluue had become like a vigilant mother, Mabile a gentle nurturer, and her brothers had doted on her and indulged her.

  As a child, she had once watched a game her older brothers had played of throwing hammers. All had been fine until a hammer had gone astray. Her brothers had tried to protect her, but not before she’d been hit. She had bruised far too easily, and although she’d covered as much as she could, Biedeluue had found every injury. Her scolding of Isnard and Servet had been talked about for weeks afterwards.

  Oh, she missed her family—but she didn’t miss the village she came from, and it had been a long time since she’d been there.

  Leaving with Josse had been the right decision, but difficult. If her family had had any way of surviving without his help, she wouldn’t have done it. But given her mother’s frailness, and her siblings toiling as hard as they could, what else could she have done? She’d needed to help them because they’d lost so much simply because she had been born.

  The reason she’d left with Josse had been to help her family. And the coin she’d earned had helped. But she hadn’t received what she should have from Roul before she’d been ripped from his home, and Ian wasn’t paying her.

  It was all the worse because Mabile had written to her about her latest pregnancy. She’d need help with taxes and food and such, and now she was stuck here with silk cushions and generous helpings of fine food while her family went without.

  ‘Stuck!’

  She shook herself. Muttering, pacing. It was only a matter of time before she didn’t finish her thoughts or her sentences, like Ian.

  Ian—who had left the day after they’d arrived. His goodbye had held more distraction than actual words. In a moment of clarity, she had seen a man who was fighting against himself and losing. Yet she couldn’t pity him. Not when he had trapped her here, not when he had most likely killed that woman, and not when he got that look in his eye as if he was prepared to do the same to her.