She’d asked again what he intended to do with her, and he’d answered that he’d know when he returned. As if that was an answer!
She moved to the window again although she tried to avoid it as much as possible. Ian’s courtyard was extensive, and at least provided much to watch, but her interest often went to the far corner, and if she sat just so...strained her neck a bit...she could see the lists, where day after day the men trained.
Some days they trained with swords, others they just wrestled. Then there were days when their weaponry was laid out on wool blankets or stretches of leather, when one man would lift it and display its worth and purpose.
One man...one warrior...who held the attention of many as he gave instructions, as he ordered dangerous men as if they were mere boys.
Evrart held her attention, too.
It wasn’t just that he was easier to see because he was wider and taller than the rest. It was because...he was different. He didn’t look as if he belonged. Maybe it was because he held himself a bit apart, or maybe because after the training the men avoided him. She didn’t know.
But it was the interaction between them that intrigued her, despite her knowing better. Despite him not speaking to her again since that first day.
Day after day he’d—
A tapping on the door.
Not a knock, not even a fist.
Margery, feeling a bit lighter, called out for Jeanne to enter.
Jeanne stood with a tray. A guard was behind her, with his hand on the latch before he closed the door. The servant was younger than Margery and no wider than a broomstick, with light brown hair and eyes. At first she had stuttered when Margery talked to her. So Margery had kept trying.
It hadn’t taken much to draw the poor girl out, and she was decent company. No, better than that—she could almost see them being friends if it wasn’t for the cruel man who kept her trapped.
‘Is this where you want the tray?’ Jeanne indicated the table with her chin.
Margery tried not to smile. ‘Perhaps.’
It was a game she had played since the first day: ordering different food or asking Jeanne to arrange the placement of a spoon or a bowl in a certain way, to delay her from leaving the room too soon.
That first day Margery had been certain Jeanne thought her mad. Though even then Jeanne had answered some of her questions. The second morning, however, Jeanne had caught on to what Margery was doing when she’d asked for a small tapestry to clean her hands, and if there wasn’t one to supply thread so they might do one together.
Jeanne had laughed and continued the game, as well as answering questions and letting Margery know a bit about the people here. They had delayed so much since that first day that the guard who was there had stopped banging on the door for them to hurry. Jeanne might have changed her mind in thinking her mad, but the guard had clearly had his opinion confirmed.
‘Is this satisfactory?’ Jeanne looked up through her lashes, moved the spoon a little to the left, and then more.
‘So how is Thomas today?’ Margery asked.
Thomas was a little red-haired boy who had been trying to help Cook in the kitchen. But the man drank, and apparently there had been an accident. She only knew any of this because on that first day Jeanne had kept fumbling until Margery had been certain she’d collapse. It hadn’t taken much encouragement for Jeanne to share her worries.
‘The swelling around his nose is easing. Still can’t see through his one eye, though.’
‘And Cook?’
‘He’s...’ Jeanne mouth tightened. ‘He will be well.’
Why the man hadn’t been banished, Margery didn’t know.
She must have frowned, or made some sound, because Jeanne said quickly, ‘It isn’t his fault—it just isn’t. Thomas set him off, that’s all—surprised him. And Cook thought Thomas was—’ Jeanne shook her head. ‘He picked him up, but then the light hit him, and when he realised it wasn’t... He tossed him away,’ she said. ‘It’s only been a few days. He needs time, that’s all. Time... He prepared this for you.’
On the tray was some overly buttered raston, well-aged cheese, and finely cut meat. It was a meal that in childhood would have delighted her. Now such a meal came at a price she didn’t want to pay. She truly just wanted some firm bread she could chew on. It would last longer and it would remind her of better days with her family.
As for Cook... It wasn’t her place, Margery knew it, but she couldn’t let children be harmed. She knew what it was like to be suddenly lifted at the whim of an adult. And she’d never been harmed. Thomas had.
‘Why doesn’t the steward do something?’
Jeanne looked horrified. ‘Steward avoids Cook—Michael—and long may that last.’
Margery didn’t understand this household. Something tragic had happened with Cook, but Jeanne was loyal and wouldn’t tell her. Still, if there was anything she could do...
‘Will you tell me why? I promise not to say a word. Or maybe I could say something to help, and—’
There was a bang on the door. Margery dropped the hard cheese onto her lap, and Jeanne turned around.
‘I’ve got to go.’
The guard hadn’t given them any time today. ‘Why are you following his orders?’
‘They’re not his orders.’
Evrart’s.
Whatever thoughts she’d had that he might be different had been just wishes or false hope for escape.
‘No asking me to help you escape today?’ Jeanne said.
Margery laughed, shocked that this woman she’d met only a few days before could somehow discern her thoughts so well. She would like her as a friend.
‘I’ll give you rest for today—but maybe you should warn Evrart that matters won’t be so easy for him.’
Jeanne’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t believe that would be good.’
Why did everyone fear him?
‘Why? Perhaps it would provide some entertainment.’
‘Oh, you truly shouldn’t provoke him! No. That wouldn’t...’ Jeanne pressed her lips together, seemed to come to some decision. ‘Are you truly planning to escape?’
Margery blinked. Jeanne hadn’t asked a direct question before—especially not about who she was or why she was there. Her first response was to answer in the same teasing vein they’d established, but seeing the earnest concern in Jeanne’s expression, she answered with the truth.
‘I do want to. I shouldn’t be here, and I fear I’ve made a mistake that may harm people I care about. But I don’t see how I can. Not with the guards, the walls, those vast fields. And the fact I can barely ride a horse.’
Jeanne’s expression eased and her eyes softened. ‘Doesn’t mean you don’t wish for better things, does it?’
Margery poked the soft bread on her tray. ‘Better things like some true bread.’
Though she smiled, Jeanne narrowed her eyes. ‘You won’t make me go down there again...’
‘Ian did say you were to serve me anything I desired,’ she said, though she wouldn’t force Jeanne to run around today simply to give her more company. The guard was already impatient. But it was an idea that could be used another day...
‘How about something else?’ Jeanne asked suddenly.
Margery almost blurted out that Jeanne shouldn’t be concerned. The servant had other duties and might get into trouble with the steward. But Jeanne looked almost eager, so she said, ‘Such as?’
Jeanne snatched the tray and stared at the door behind her. ‘Let me see.’ Jeanne gave a quick nod, and then carefully went out the door.
Margery caught a glimpse of the guard who’d followed Jeanne up here before Jeanne shoved the almost full tray into his hands and talked to him, her words continuous and never letting him say a word in reply. Then Jeanne’s hand was on the latch as the door closed.
> Margery waited for the distinct scrape of wood and iron as the door was barred. When that didn’t happen, Margery waited some more. Then she realised what Jeanne had given her instead of bread.
A way out.
CHAPTER SIX
Evrart blinked, then blinked again. He wasn’t mistaken. Margery was in the corridor, heading towards the stairs. He stopped his long strides up the staircase. There were no others behind her, and he heard no other sounds other than his footsteps. This tower was empty save for its captive—who shouldn’t be freely roaming any corridor.
Evrart cursed. If Ian had been in residence she would have lost her life, her toes, her feet. She could have been hurt in any of the numerous ways he’d watched Ian use to torture his enemies. She could have been passed to some of the newer mercenaries who were out to prove themselves to the Warstones.
He didn’t trust those new men even when he faced them in the lists. Until he’d gathered all the information on their families, something Ian insisted upon to ensure loyalty to the Warstones, every day he was prepared for some act of betrayal.
What would a faithless man do to a lone woman who was reported to be uncommonly beautiful and Ian’s mistress? If there was an enemy amongst them, and they thought she was important to Ian, she’d be used as bait. Of course if she was captured by Ian’s enemies she’d be killed. Ian wouldn’t bother to rescue her.
And that dark thought of another man touching her, of any of those new men touching her, let alone slicing a blade across her throat, brought again that sense of dark vigilance inside him. Something far more seething than the desire merely to protect.
How difficult could it be to keep her locked in a room? He’d checked on her three times a day since Ian left. Five days of opening the door and waving her towards the garderobe whilst he waited down the corridor. Five days of guarding her from those new men, and from any acts she might do against the Warstones.
He hadn’t talked to her since that first day because it wasn’t safe. Not with the way she was with him...not with his reaction to her.
He needed to know more about her. He’d tried to get information from the men Ian had travelled with, but they had not been forthcoming. Any knowledge they had divulged had made his hands curl to fists, though what they’d said wasn’t anything more than what any man had said. He just didn’t like it. Not when it came to her.
Training was hard for them all that day.
Yet all his precautions had been for nothing, for here she was, taking a few more steps closer to him as if he wasn’t about to unleash himself upon her.
He took the final stair. All the responsibility for this woman fell on his shoulders. If he failed in his one task, his family would be at risk. And this woman played games?
‘Did you just growl?’ she said.
He was about to do so much more.
Jeanne had done this. That quiet girl had obviously left the door unlocked so Margery could escape. What was the name of the guard who had accompanied Jeanne today? It was his last day.
He saw her eyes move to the door to Ian’s chambers and then past him. Did she think he’d let her pass?
‘Are you simply intending to stare at me?’ she said.
No, nothing as simple as that. This woman wasn’t Jeanne. She was someone who couldn’t be reasoned with. She would incur his frustration and his threats.
He rolled his shoulders just once before he said, ‘What would it mean if I answered?’
Her eyes went wide and her mouth twitched. Was she going to cry?
The other day she’d had such a reaction of fear and laughter he hadn’t known how to respond or even if he should.
Women did this...but more so around him. Fright, tears, fainting! Any movement startled them, any words said often made it worse—and not simply because he couldn’t choose the right words, but apparently because his voice was gruff...as if he had any control over that.
Her lips were trembling and there were tears at the corners of her eyes. Evrart looked behind him. Maybe he could—
Margery laughed.
Evrart started to take a step back and only just remembered where he stood. Her eyes widened more, and the soft laughter grew bolder. This wasn’t like before. These weren’t tears choked out by fear.
‘What could be humorous?’
She chuckled and shook her head. ‘It’s your expressions, and that shoulder-rolling thing you do.’
If he rolled his shoulders it was because his shoulders had tightened from frustration, or anger. From all the danger, intrigue and lies. Because lives were at stake. It wasn’t a jest.
This didn’t bode well. He was four times as big as all of her, and she wasn’t intimidated by him at all.
Again, he knew the right course would be to put her back in the room and be done. Again, his reaction wasn’t typical.
Wrenching his gaze from hers, he leaned against the arches to stare outside. ‘It isn’t safe.’ For either of them.
She wiped her eyes. ‘But he’s gone, isn’t he? When is he to return?’
He didn’t know. Not this time. In the past Ian had rarely left him behind, but now he seemed to do it all too often. Something was escalating and there was nothing Evrart could do about it.
As far as he could tell Ian’s brothers were turning on him. But Reynold had turned on the family long before Evrart had become a part of the household, so it made no sense other than the rumour that the youngest, Balthus, was also turning away from the parents and Ian.
But Balthus was a favourite of his mother’s. His betraying the family must be false.
‘You do know you haven’t answered me?’ Standing near a different arch, she continued, ‘I’m assuming you know how long he’ll be and you have been advised not to tell me.’
This was disastrous. He should have opened the door and put her in the room. He should have returned to his duties—though none of them had held any appeal from the moment he’d seen her stepping towards him.
‘Your silence isn’t loud enough for me to hear,’ she said. ‘How about you nod or make some other affirmative physical gesture if I am saying something true?’
Something light shifted in his chest. Was he going to laugh? He didn’t know this woman. Ian had ordered him to lock her in a room, either to keep her safe or to keep his home safe. Either way, he should be obeying.
Evrart allowed himself to gaze at the woman at his side. The days he’d escorted her out of the room he’d been careful not to stare too much, though he’d wanted to. He felt she wouldn’t like it. But it was the way others still talked about her. Her hair...the way she moved her hands...and her lavender eyes.
But lavender’s distinct fragrance wasn’t what clung to him after he left her presence. Her scent was something more distinct, something... There were times when he opened the door and instead of stepping back he held it, so she’d brush against him to enter the corridor. That scent wasn’t lavender. Lavender wasn’t addictive. And it didn’t make his body tighten or make him wish he could bury his nose in the crook of her neck.
‘You should go to the garderobe whilst I wait here.’
‘I have already been. That’s where I was when you interrupted me.’
How long had she been free?
‘It’s right down the corridor.’ She pointed. ‘You expected me to wait for you?’
He expected her to stay safe.
He almost winced. She wasn’t safe, was she? He wanted her in that room so he could do his duty to Warstone, so he and his family stayed safe. But her being in that room wasn’t beneficial to her at all. Unless she was dangerous—which he couldn’t believe. Not when her wide eyes were on him, allowing him to see every emotion.
Still, for all their sakes, she needed to obey.
‘You’ve been waiting for me for five days,’ he said.
‘It’s not alwa
ys convenient. What if you don’t arrive on time? I’d have to clean up my own—’
‘Don’t say it.’
‘Now you want me to be quiet?’
Why had she stayed in her room before? Because of fear or a sense of safety? Or because the door had been locked? Now apparently Jeanne had brought food and hadn’t locked it behind her. He might need to install permanent guards.
‘Are you thinking of putting guards outside my door?’ she said.
He almost growled again. Who was this woman?
‘Not only thinking...intending to do it.’
‘Will they take me to the garderobe, then?’
That sense of dark vigilance he hadn’t quite been able to shake since that first day he’d seen her roiled in denial. He shook his head.
‘You don’t trust them?’
She leaned her hip against the sill, a movement which outlined the shape of her body. Everything about her was bright...almost brazen. No, brave. Her body reflected it—from her eyes upturned at the corners to the flick of her nose, the determined chin. Her breasts were moulded tightly by her gown binding. The curves were barely discernible, making a man wonder what her nipples would feel like against his tongue. But her hips... Those were fully rounded, and even in his hands they’d be a handful, something he was being made viciously aware of.
Was she as beautiful as Ian purported her to be? She was...something. In all the women he’d come across, never had he wished to know what one truly looked like, but he did her.
‘The chapel with the gardens is beautiful,’ she said.
It was quite a view when Ian left his private rooms to see such changing beauty through the multiple archways along the corridor. Not that he could see beauty the way others could—something he’d been made aware of when he was a child.
‘The chaplain won’t let you claim sanctuary,’ he said.
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 48
