Irritation crackled in Rexana's veins. While she appreciated the luxurious bath, and the extraordinary time Tansy had spent lathering, scrubbing, and rinsing, Rexana had to wonder if her wicked husband had ordered the pampering to keep her occupied. To keep her from getting in the way as he completed his "duties."
Blowing a sigh, she dropped onto the stool near the hearth tiles. She clasped her hands in her lap and, as Tansy smoothed a towel down her hair, did her best to sit still. Rexana's fingers twitched. What was Fane doing at this moment? What had Kester discovered? Had they found information that implicated Rudd?
She had to find the missive.
Thoughts whirled around and around in her brain. She shut her eyes. Forced her mind to calm. She would accomplish naught by working herself into a tizzy. She must focus. Concentrate. Plan.
Beside her, the fire snapped. She inhaled the smoky odor of burning wood along with the tang of hot pitch. As Tansy set to work with a wide-toothed ivory comb, a yawn warmed Rexana's throat. She resisted the fatigue. Resisted the temptation to relax into Tansy's care. Resisted the urge to set aside all worrying and searching until the morrow.
If the missive were hidden in this room, she would find it.
"Thank you, Tansy. That will be all."
The maidservant clucked her tongue. "Yer hair is not quite dry. Just a little more —"
Rexana trapped a yawn with her hand.
Tansy chuckled. "Ye must keep awake fer the eve- nin' meal, milady." The comb whispered through Rexana's hair again. "There. 'Tis the best I can do fer now." Tansy shuffled around to face Rexana, and said, "Will ye come ta the hall, then?"
Ignoring the woman's coaxing, toothy smile, Rexana rose and ran her hands over her wind-chapped cheeks. "After today's long ride, and the fresh air, I am weary. I think I will go to bed."
Tansy winked like a cheeky child. "Forgive me if I speak plainly, but I was a newlywed meself a few times. I know 'is lusty lordship kept ye up late last eve."
Despite her determination not to, Rexana blushed. Fane had indeed kept her awake until the wee hours, though not with coupling. She glanced at the bed, for her skin tingled with the memory of lying beside him, her blood sluggish and hot, her body yearning in a manner she had never felt before.
Rexana cleared a knot from her throat. "How did you guess?"
The giggling maidservant waved her plump hand in the air. "I will tell 'is lordship ye retired early, and that ye are warm and snug in the blankets. Restin' up," she added, "for the next time 'e desires ye."
"Ah . . . thank you."
Tansy plodded to the solar doors. She yanked them open, leaned into the hallway, then clapped her hands. Young lads hurried in to drag the sloshing tub out into the passage. Tansy quickly dried the floorboards and collected the towels and soap. "I will ask the lads ta leave the empty tub outside, so they do not disturb ye." She dropped into a wobbly curtsey. "May ye slumber well, milady."
The doors clicked shut.
Rexana listened as Tansy snapped orders to the boys. The voices faded down the hallway. As the quiet settled around Rexana, warning tingled down her spine. She must not be caught searching the solar. Not when Fane moved like a silent, stalking cat. The last time she had explored the chamber, days ago when she was disguised as a dancer, he had caught her unawares.
She picked up the rectangular stool and set it against the doors. Fane would not be able to enter without it scraping across the floor, or him tripping over it. She brushed her palms together and smiled. Now, to search.
Her gaze narrowed on Fane's wooden chest, set beside hers along the wall. While he had not forbidden her to look at his belongings, she sensed he did not wish her to. She dropped to her knees, sucked in a shaky breath, then raised the lid.
His lemon-spice scent filled her nostrils. She resisted the delicious shiver that rippled through her to settle low in her belly. Her fingers brushed a cloth wrapped package tucked to one side. By its shape, she guessed it held many soaps. She shifted the layers of folded tunics and shirts and found a glittering sword shaped like a half moon. A weapon unlike any she had seen before.
In the east, had Fane learned how to wield such a sword? Had he killed men with such a barbaric looking instrument?
A shudder tore through her. She pushed the sword away to work her way down to the bottom of the chest. Blank parchment. A pot of ink. A quill. Woolen hose. A sheathed hunting knife. A bag containing coins and jewels.
Her fingers brushed an item hidden under the hose. A rolled parchment.
Her mouth went dry as stale bread. Had she found the missive?
Chapter Fifteen
Holding a ring of keys and a torch, Fane strode toward the dungeon cell. Kester followed close behind. Smug satisfaction blazed inside Fane, as hot as the sputtering torch flame. This time, he would extract answers from Villeaux.
The lad slumped on the ground against the cell's far wall, his back pressed against the stones, his knees bent and his scruffy head resting on his arms. Misgiving, sharp as a spiny lizard's tail, flicked through Fane. He squashed the emotion. He would not think of the days he had sat huddled so, mentally withdrawn from his smelly prison, as he forced his desperate, fevered mind to focus on survival.
And, above all, duty.
As light broached the cell's darkness, Villeaux looked up. "Back again, Linford?"
Despite the sense of victory sluicing through him, Fane ground his teeth. Still, the lad refused to address him by his proper title, and thereby show him a measure of respect.
"I am, boy,'" he said. "We have much to discuss."
Rudd snorted, a sound of utter repugnance. He stretched out his legs and brushed dirt from his filthy hose. The rattle of chains competed with his arrogant chuckle. "You will get no more from me than you did in the last interrogation."
Fane smiled. The iron keys jangled in his palm. He fitted the correct one into the door's lock, and it opened with a click. With his foot, Fane shoved the door open.
Rudd's gaze slid to Kester. "The captain has come to hold your hand?"
"Nay," Fane said lightly. "He will torture you."
Panic flashed in the boy's eyes, before he shook his head and laughed. "With wax tablets? I quake with fear."
"You should." Fane stepped into the cell. "He brings proof of your guilt."
His back to the bars, keeping well out of the boy's reach, Fane stepped to one side to let Kester enter. The smells of mildew and sweat filled Fane's nostrils. He fought to keep his memories submerged. The past had no bearing on here and now. None.
Pushing hair from his grubby cheek, Villeaux rose to standing. Stubbornness tightened his jaw. Fane resisted the urge to grin. At times, Rexana's face held exactly the same determined expression.
As though he could read minds, the lad said, "How is Rexana? Why do you not let me see her?" Anger rumbled in his voice. "If you are ill treating her —"
"She is well," Fane said. "She enjoys all the privileges of a High Sheriff's wife. She does not visit, because I do not permit it."
"Why?"
"You do not confess."
Rudd's throat moved with a swallow. "I will not."
Fane shrugged. He quelled the roar that burned inside him. "Whether you admit to your conspiracy or not may not matter to the King's Court. Kester has eyewitness accounts of your tavern meetings. And" — he paused for effect — "a signed statement from Thomas Newland."
The boy's face paled. "Newland? What did he say?"
Fane took the tablet from Kester. "He made many interesting comments. A barn you paid him to lease. A meeting you planned to hold there." He ran a thoughtful hand over his mouth. "I did not realize Newland's brother is a goldsmith."
A harsh sigh flew from Rudd. His wrist chains clinked. The tension in the cell thickened.
"Newland's brother made Rexana's brooch. Aye?"
Words rushed from Rudd as though he could no longer restrain them. "The brooch was a gift, no more. She has no part in the rebellion. Do you h
ear me? She is guilty only of a tender heart."
Fane arched a brow. What did the lad mean? Mayhap his words foreshadowed his willingness to speak of his treachery. "Is that so?"
Villeaux's eyes blazed. "She knows naught. I was careful to keep my affairs from her."
Crossing his arms, Fane leaned his shoulder against the cell's bars. "I must be certain of Rexana's innocence. She is, after all, my wife. The future mother of my children."
Rudd swore.
Fane pushed away from the bars. "You will tell me of your connection to Newland. You will tell me all I wish to know. Your future depends upon your answers."
Rexana withdrew the worn sheepskin from Fane's linen chest. A frisson of foreboding shot through her. If this was the missive she and Henry had sought, she must burn it.
Casting a nervous glance at the closed doors, she untied the strip of leather binding the parchment. As she unfurled the document, her hand shook.
Her gaze skimmed the awkwardly penned lines. She had not found the list of lords sworn to betray the crown, but a letter.
My dear son,
My stiff hands fail me so I will speak plainly. your father quit this earth two nights past. A painful sickness of the belly took him, and I thank, God he did not suffer long.
Rexana gnawed her lip. She should not go on. She should not pry into Fane's past. Yet, she could not resist reading more.
I, too, am unwell. "My body pains me, thus I have little strength to write. Yet, I must. I pray, my son, that you are safe. I pray that wherever you may be, you will know I never ceased loving you. I pray that you will one day receive this and know, with all my heart, how I regret how your father and I wronged you.
I should have been stronger. I should never have allowed his cruel tongue to wound you or banish you from this keep. For that, I am eternally sorry.
The signature blurred before Rexana's eyes. She blinked away tears. Of all the things she thought to find, 'twas not this.
She had heard rumors that in a fit of rage, Fane's father had disowned him. What had happened between Fane and his sire? What had Fane done? How could a man banish his own blood son? She had known Fane's emotional scars ran deep, but she had not imagined finding proof of how pitiless his father had been.
She wondered if Fane had ever known love. Genuine affection, as she had shared with her parents and Rudd. His mother had loved him. Had he known? Had he loved her in return, or had he always yearned for acceptance?
Was that why he succumbed to an eastern courtesan's charms?
Rexana sighed. Such musings accomplished naught, and spun a dangerous web of emotions. She could not grow to care deeply for Fane. She wanted an annulment.
Of course she wanted her marriage to end. She had wed Fane for one purpose only, to help her exonerate Rudd.
She would not fall in love.
After retying the parchment, Rexana set it beside her on the floorboards. She, too, would reject Fane. Just like his family. Was that not cruel?
Steeling herself against that thought, she searched the rest of the chest. Frowning, she sat back on her heels. Either he carried the missive with him, or he had hidden it elsewhere.
Rexana stared down at his mussed garments. He did not trust her. He expected her to search the solar, and so he had put the document where she could never find it. No doubt he could claim 'twas his crown duty to keep it from her.
Well, he would not thwart her, for she would find where he had hidden it. She would not fail Rudd.
After replacing the items in Fane's chest, she shut the lid and stood. Hugging her arms to her bodice, she strolled to the solar window. Dusk had fallen like a gray blanket. Stars twinkled, tiny winking pinpoints of light. Sparks of hope in the vast stretch of blackness.
Rexana closed and latched the shutters, curtailing the cold breeze. She had sought to save her brother's young life. She had found proof of the bitterness in Fane's.
How foolish, that she wished she could share some of her love with Fane.
Fane raked his hand through his hair as he started up the landing's stairs. Below, in the shadowed hall, castle folk slumbered. Weariness made his steps heavy, and he willed away the fatigue. He would not allow it to impair his judgment, or allow Rexana to glean answers from him that she would no doubt demand. Answers his duty forbade him to reveal.
He had no wish to do battle with her. 'Twas well past midnight, yet he had not obtained all the answers he sought from Villeaux. The lad refused to tell all he knew about the traitors or outright confess his guilt, but the link between Rexana, Newland, and Rudd was clear.
Fair Rexana had acted with rare courage the day she risked her own life to save Newland's. If the events had transpired as Rudd said, she had selflessly accepted responsibility for the life of a man well below her station, whose death few would have noticed.
Yet, Fane had to wonder . . . Why had she fought through the driving snow to save Newland? Why had she risked her life? What bound her to the humble farmer, whom, Rudd claimed, she had not met until the day she saw him floundering in the snowdrifts, wounded by his own arrow which had bounced off a rock and buried deep in his leg?
"She is guilty only of a tender heart," Villeaux had said. He had repeated this several times during the questioning. A grudging smile touched Fane's mouth. Mayhap, indeed, she had not wished to see the man die.
He strode into the passage and hailed the guards on duty. When he looked at the solar doors, his gut clenched. She had accepted a similar responsibility for saving her brother. Yet, the evidence Kester had collected and Rudd's own words proved 'twould be nigh impossible for her — or even a High Sheriff — to prove him guiltless.
Unless Villeaux withheld information that would illuminate his innocence, and explain why his signature came to be on the list of traitors.
Fane frowned. Why would the lad refuse to talk? He knew he faced the King's Courts and grave punishment. Even death.
Unless he had a very good reason to remain silent.
A draft skimming through the passage set the wall torches flickering. Fane rubbed his brow, which pounded with the beginnings of a bad headache. His big, comfortable bed, behind the doors, beckoned.
He hesitated outside the solar. As soon as he stepped in, Rexana would cross to him, demanding to know what his men had discovered about Rudd. Fane knew his wife well enough now to predict the tight pursing of her lips and her narrowed eyes.
He did not want to discuss Rudd. He did not want to argue. He wanted to crawl between the sheets, draw her into his arms, and thoroughly woo her. Make her his. Though the way his eyelids drooped, he doubted he had the stamina to make love to her with any kind of finesse, as she deserved.
A wretched, embarrassing thought.
He depressed the door's handle. The panel did not swing inward. With a tired grunt, he pushed harder. Inside the dark room, an object scraped across the floorboards.
Astonishment slammed through him. Rexana had blocked the doorway. Did she intend to keep him out? Was she still miffed by their earlier disagreement in the bailey?
He shoved harder. Stepped forward. His calf knocked against solid wood, and he yelped.
Across the chamber, the bed ropes creaked. Sheets rustled.
Squinting down, he spied a stool. "Hellfire!"
One of the guards strode to him. "All is well, milord?"
"Aye," Fane snapped. The man's footfalls receded.
As Fane kicked aside the wooden stool, Rexana hurried to his side, her shift flapping about her legs. Eyes wide, she pressed a hand to her mouth.
"I. . . Oh, I am sorry. Are you hurt?"
He scowled down at her. Did she blush, or did the fire lit shadows play tricks on his weary gaze?
He shoved the door closed. "You set this stool here?"
She gave a sheepish nod.
"Why? You intended to send me sprawling to the floor? Or even unman me?"
"Of course not. I planned to return it to the hearth after I had disrobed, but —"
>
"You forgot."
She crossed her arms. "Aye, I forgot."
He closed the space between them. Stood close enough that her arms brushed against his tunic. Her tousled hair tempted him. So did her unique scent. He longed to take her in his arms to pleasure her . . . yet, God help him, even his loins were too exhausted to manage more than a feeble stir.
He brushed past her. Strode to the side of the bed.
Sat and began to unlace his boots.
Clasping her hands together, she padded to his side. "We must speak, milord. I must know of Rudd and —"
Dance Of Desire Page 20
