The key sounded in the lock and the door swung inward, causing a draft to whip over the planks. Dust swirled into Edouard’s eyes, and he blinked.
Grunts and the rustle of straw preceded two mercenaries lugging a pallet between them. They hauled the bed across the chamber and, taking care to stay out of his reach, dumped it against the wall closest to him, rousing more dust. Edouard wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hand.
“’Avin’ a wee cry, are ye?” the graying-haired mercenary said.
Edouard glared at him. “Who will be sleeping on that pallet?”
The other man wiped his running nose on his sleeve and grinned. “Well, ye see—”
“Come on,” the older mercenary said. “We still ’ave ta bring up what’s at the bottom o’ the stairs.” He executed a mocking bow. “Yer lordship.”
Snickering, the two men retreated out the door. The panel quickly closed and the lock engaged.
Edouard looked over the pallet, as lumpy and grimy as his own. He was going to be sharing this cell. With whom? One of his men? Or . . . Juliana?
Anticipation raced through him at the thought. ’Twould be completely inappropriate, especially when he was to marry her sister, but true to Veronique’s depraved character. He and Juliana, imprisoned together, a prospect both exciting and mortifying, for they’d be intimately aware of each other every moment. Each breath, sound, and whisper would be shared.
’Twould be its own kind of torture.
More voices came from outside the door, the cadence of the tones indicating one man was giving orders. Then the lock turned again, and the door opened to admit Tye, holding Juliana in his arms.
Dismay plowed through Edouard; he’d correctly guessed Veronique’s intentions. However, Juliana lay with her eyes shut and appeared as unresponsive as when Tye had carried her out of this chamber earlier. She was clothed in a clean chemise, and her skin and hair looked freshly washed, indicating someone had bathed her. Yet her arms curled toward Tye’s chest in a gesture of entreaty.
Edouard shoved to his feet. “What have you done to her?”
Tye’s boots thumped on the planks.
“Why is she still unconscious? She was to see the healer—”
“—and she did. She is resting now. Sleep is good for curing ailments, is it not?”
“I tell you”—Edouard said firmly—“she does not look well. I demand—”
Tye laughed before halting by the empty pallet. “You are a brave fool, Brother, to speak in that manner to me.”
Beware, a voice inside Edouard shrilled. Do not be foolish and jeopardize Juliana’s well-being.
Trying to keep the force from his words, he asked, “Why have you brought her here?”
“Mother decided she will stay with you.” Tye winked. “She thought you might like a companion.” He dropped to his knees, lowered Juliana to the pallet, and stepped away. She lay with her left arm curved over her waist. Her right arm stretched away from her body, fingers slightly spread and accentuating the slenderness of her hands.
He’d put her on her right side facing Edouard rather than flat on her back, a small kindness that kept pressure from her head wound.
Kindness? Nay. That sentiment had no bearing with Tye.
Edouard met his brother’s gloating stare. “You know this arrangement is not proper.”
“Proper?” Tye shrugged and straightened his tunic.
“I am betrothed to her sister. If that is not significant enough, Juliana is a titled noblewoman. Most likely a virgin.”
“Ah. Your chivalrous morals are screaming in protest.”
Edouard silently cursed and struggled to rein in his rising temper.
“’Twill not be of consequence,” Tye said. “Unless, that is, you intend to defile her?”
“Of course not!” Edouard roared.
Tye grinned, obviously pleased by Edouard’s outburst. “You would not want to give in to temptation and upset not only your future bride, but Father, would you?”
What a vile taunt. Through the red haze clouding his mind, Edouard realized Tye had called their sire “Father.” An even more grave insult.
“He is not your father,” Edouard bit out.
“By blood, he is.”
“When I explain I had no choice in sharing my imprisonment with Juliana,” Edouard went on, his tone harshening, “he will understand. That does not concern me half as much as ruining Juliana’s reputation.”
Tye raised his brows. “What an honorable man you are.”
“I think also of her well-being. This chamber is draughty. It has no hearth to provide warmth. In her weakened condition . . .”
Tye smiled, a wry tilt of his lips. “Fine reasoning, but she is to stay here. Mother’s orders.” His gaze turned cold. “In all honesty, Brother, you two are not likely to leave Waddesford alive. Why torment yourself about morality and matters you cannot control?”
Edouard stifled his biting retort. He would leave here alive, and so would Juliana.
He glanced at her, hoping for a sign she was reviving. Her bosom rose and fell on slow, steady breaths, a sign of deep slumber. If she slept through his and Tye’s conversation, she might not wake for some time.
Footfalls sounded in the stairwell outside the still-open door.
“At last, they return,” Tye muttered.
The mercenaries who’d brought the pallet walked in, sweat streaming down their faces.
“Yer piss bucket, milord.” The gray-haired mercenary set it on the floor then shoved it with his booted foot toward Edouard.
“And yer foin beddin’.” The other man threw a woolen blanket at Edouard before tossing one at Juliana. It landed on her bare feet.
Edouard caught his blanket before it hit his chest. Chain links batted his side as he shook out the worn covering. A bit thin, but ’twould still give some warmth when night fell.
When he looked up, Tye held his stare and smirked. “You have all you need, then.”
“Juliana does not. I would like to speak with Veronique about these arrangements.”
A rough chuckle rumbled from Tye. “When she wishes to see you, she will. Until then,”—his gaze roved over Juliana and lingered, for a moment, upon her breasts swelling against her sheer garment—“you are on your own.”
***
A gritty rasp edged into Juliana’s sleepy consciousness. A rhythmic sound, she slowly realized. Rasp, rasp, rasp. Pause. Rasp, rasp, rasp.
She tried to rouse to full alertness. Her groggy mind resisted; it felt unnaturally dense, dominated by blackness heavier than she’d experienced before.
Wake, Juliana. Find Edouard. You must be certain he is all right.
She became aware of an earthy smell rising from beneath her cheek. She was lying on her side. A prickly roughness scratched her arm, while across her legs, a softer, yet also prickly, sensation persisted.
Juliana swallowed, for an earthy taste clung to her mouth. An unpleasant flavor. If only she had some water or ale to swill the essence away. Indeed, any drink would do.
Drink . . . The last thing she’d downed was the brew the healer had made for her at Veronique’s bidding. Juliana tried to steady her nerves. Was she still in the solar? Was Veronique using those gruesome bones to make that gritty noise?
Rasp, rasp, rasp came again. A shiver crawled through Juliana as she forced her eyes open.
When the muddied browns, golds, and grays within her view gradually focused, she realized she stared at a stone wall across a wood-floored chamber. The tower, where Edouard was chained?
Raising her head, she glanced toward the fading, orange-tinged light spilling in through the window. Edouard squatted with his back to her, his gaze trained on the section of wall, cast in shadow, closest to him. He was examining the mortared stone to which his chains were bolted.
Giddiness bubbled up inside her. He was all right. Oh, how wondrous to see him again. She tried not to allow her gaze to skim over his torn and dirt-scuffed tunic, or not
e the way the woolen fabric stretched over his shoulder and back muscles, but her mind refused to heed her maidenly request to stop. The hem of his tunic swept his buttocks. Pulled taut from his crouched posture, the dark cloth defined the swells and indents of his thigh muscles. Well-honed muscles, from what she saw.
Her gaze slid lower, to his bare feet pressed into the pallet; his boots were propped upside down against the wall a few yards away from him, mayhap to dry them out. Unable to stop her stare from returning to his arse, she caught her bottom lip with her teeth and hoped he wouldn’t suddenly glance her way and catch her ogling.
His posture shifted slightly as the fingers of his left hand skated over the rough stone. The gentle touch, somehow, reminded her of a caress. An odd, tantalizing tremor ran through her.
Movement drew her attention to his right hand, clasped around a small object. Before she could figure out what he held, he raised his hand to the iron ring. Rasp, rasp, rasp. The sound of a hard item scraping stone.
“Come on,” he said under his breath.
As he dipped his head to check his progress, his hair shifted to trail against his neck and shoulder, defining even more the hard set of his jaw. His uncompromising expression snuffed the excitement inside her, for he did indeed look threatening enough to be a murderer.
Was he truly the man Veronique had described him to be? If so, why was Juliana alone in this chamber with him?
Juliana must have sighed, moved slightly, or made some instinctive sound, for Edouard spun to face her. The chains clanked in a startling cacophony.
Juliana flinched and scrambled back, away from the noise, putting more distance between them.
As her side bumped against the wall, he said, “Sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”
“You—” She groaned, and her hand flew up to her aching head.
“I was beginning to worry and . . . ’Tis good to see you awake.”
“Have I slept for long?” she asked.
“All afternoon.”
She rubbed her brow and realized her stomach hurt, too. The aftereffects of that drink?
“’Twill soon be nightfall,” Edouard went on, clearly determined to keep her attention now that she was roused. “I will keep working until the light fades.”
“You hope to dig out the bolts?”
He nodded. “I fear, though, I am making slow progress. ’Twould go much faster with a knife.” When he opened his palm, a sheepish grin tilted his mouth. “This pebble is not much of a tool.”
Veronique and Tye wouldn’t have left him any item that might be used as a weapon; a pebble could cause harm if thrown at close range. “Where did you find it?”
He gestured to the pallet. “I broke through the cloth covering—chewed it, actually—and felt around inside the straw. At first, I found only a twig, which I tried on the wall but it broke. Then, on my second hunt around, I found this small rock.”
“I do not see any straw on the floor.”
A faint grin touched his lips. How heart-wrenchingly handsome he looked. “I swept it all under the pallet. I do not want Veronique or Tye knowing what I have done.” He winked. “You will not tell, Juliana, will you?”
“O-of course not.”
He squinted at her, an unrelenting look that sent unease tingling down her spine. She pushed up to a sitting position against the wall, ignoring the tug of her hair caught on the stone. “W-what?”
“You hesitated. Why do you look at me as though I am a criminal?” Looking down at the pebble in his hand, he clenched it in his fist, implying he had to refocus his rising emotions.
“I do not mean to upset you,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but . . . apart from the past day, I do not remember you at all. I have no idea what kind of a man . . . you really are.”
He lifted his head to hold her gaze. His bold, unapologetic stare made her insides quiver.
“What kind of man did Veronique and Tye make me out to be?”
She moistened her lips. “Well . . .”
A grating laugh parted his lips. “Let me guess. I like to rape nuns.”
She couldn’t hold back a shocked gasp. Dropping her gaze, she studied her hands, entwined in her lap. “Veronique did not say that.”
“She told you I was a killer, though, or an equally brutal man.”
Misgiving tightened like a knot between Juliana’s breasts. She didn’t want to make him angry; how would he react? He might be charming most of the time, but prone to a vicious temper. Hadn’t Tye said Edouard was chained because of his violent tendencies?
Even while she rationalized, part of her protested. You know, in your heart, that you can trust him, and he would never hurt you.
“Tell me what happened when they took you from here,” Edouard said, his voice surprisingly gentle. His tone coaxed her to share her most recent memories, to take him beyond the confines of this dreary chamber to what she’d experienced.
“I awoke in a large chamber. I was lying on a bed.” How distinctly she recalled the room’s details: the dark planes of shadow; the tight weave of the coverlet; the candlelight glimmering on the wooden table. Curious, how she itched to replicate what she’d seen in some way, to understand—to know—all the different forms and textures. Blinking aside the perplexing thoughts, she added, “Veronique told me ’twas the solar.”
Still crouching, Edouard leaned forward. “Did you wake alone in the bed?”
He’d practically spat out the question. Her face warmed, for she didn’t like the implications of that query.
No doubt noting her blush, his expression tautened. “I must know, Juliana. Was someone in the bed with you? A man?”
“Nay!” She threw up a hand. “I was lying on the bedcover, not inside the bedding.”
“Ah—”
“Veronique came to the bedside when I woke. The solar seems to be her chamber, although she said I had lived there, too, at one time.”
A curse broke from Edouard. “How like her to assume the role of lady of the keep, especially now that Landon is dead.”
“Veronique started to explain . . .” what a dangerous man you are, Edouard.
Looking again at her hands, she tried to find a less blunt manner to describe Veronique’s words.
“Juliana.”
“I-I needed to catch my breath.”
“Juliana.” Her name rolled from his tongue; his husky tone caressed each consonant and syllable, making her name seem exotic and . . . beautiful. “I want to know. What did she say about me?”
She drew in a measured breath, grappling for focus. He might have a delicious voice, but that didn’t change the fact she must tell him foul news. “All right.” She tipped her chin higher. “I will tell you. But you must promise not to get angry.”
He raised his brows. “Her words were that favorable, then?”
Juliana huffed. “Promise.”
With a dismissive flick of his hand, he said, “I promise. Why not?”
He sounded bitter. He didn’t like being coerced. But she’d achieved her aims and wouldn’t delay his answer.
“Veronique said you are heartless,” Juliana began.
Edouard grunted.
“A killer—”
“What trained warrior is not?”
“—and that you came to this keep to murder her and Tye, because—”
“Because?” Edouard echoed.
“You are jealous of Tye, your half brother, and do not want him to inherit from your sire, even though he is entitled.”
Shaking his head, Edouard laughed. His laughter faded to a growl. “Well. She certainly did her best to keep you from trusting me.”
Juliana flexed her numbing fingers. “She said you would try to win my trust, so I would help you escape. That ’tis the only reason you care . . . about me.”
His sharpened gaze locked with hers. “’Tis not true, Juliana. Not at all. Truth be told, I vow most of what she has told you is a lie.”
A tiny part of Juliana
’s heart sang with gladness. Still, she said, “How so?”
Chains clanked as he dropped to the pallet, then braced his arms upon his bent knees. “To begin, I do not consider myself heartless. Aye, I have killed in my lifetime—I will not lie to you about such—but the men I struck down were enemies of my father or the lords who owe fealty to him. I fought in skirmishes waged to preserve justice and harmony in these lands, as is expected of me and all the honorable warriors of this realm.”
“I . . . see.”
“Juliana, I did not travel to Waddesford Keep with the intention of killing Veronique and Tye; I came to speak with Lord Ferchante, on my father’s behalf. I did not realize, until too late, that they were at this castle. If I had known, I would not have brought you here to have your wound healed.”
How she ached at the self-condemnation in his words. “Edouard—”
He held up a hand. “Let me finish. I want you to hear it all, Juliana, for Veronique and Tye are my sire’s longtime enemies. My sire has been hunting them for years, because they have sworn to destroy him and take over the lands he has ruled in peace. Tye may or may not be my half brother; that has not been proven. Even if we are related, he is bastard-born, and has no right to inherit. I, however, am my father’s heir. ’Tis one of the reasons Veronique is so eager to keep me hostage and to stop you from helping me. If I do not escape”—he paused, expression stark—“they will kill me.”
“You cannot be certain,” Juliana whispered.
“I am. I have no doubt my death will be painful and in a manner to cause my sire great anguish.” He dropped his head on a weary sigh.
The finality in Edouard’s tone left her cold. She hardly dared to ask, and yet she must. “Do they mean to kill me, too?”
He slowly raised his head. Remorse flickered in his eyes. “I will not lie to you, Juliana. I expect so.”
She crossed her arms and hugged herself tight. An awful sense of disorientation swirled through her. “I do not want to die. Not when I do not even remember who I am!”
“Juliana, listen to me. I will not let them hurt you. I will do all I can to protect you. That is why we must escape, as soon as we can. Whatever treachery they are plotting, we must warn my sire. We must stop them.”
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