Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

by Catherine Kean, Anna Markland, Elizabeth Rose, Laurel ODonnell, Barbara Devlin, SueEllen Welfonder, Amy Jarecki

  Juliana became aware of the eerie stillness surrounding her. She glanced about to see a silent crowd filled the bailey. The castle folk were herded into groups by mercenaries with drawn swords.

  An open space marked the middle of the bailey. Her captors pulled her to this area and forced her to halt. Edouard and Kaine, mercenaries surrounding them, stood a short distance away. Tye moved to stand near them.

  “Keep them there,” Veronique said to Tye and the men watching Edouard and Kaine. “We do not want any foolish heroics, do we?”

  A hideous shiver ran through Juliana as she glanced over the throng of men, women, and children, many of whom she recognized. She couldn’t watch any of them die.

  Her gaze flew to Edouard. How handsome, proud, and defiant he looked, even in this dreadful moment.

  Stay calm. Keep a clear mind . . .

  A metallic rasp sounded beside her. Veronique had drawn a knife from its leather sheath. Holding the blade straight out in front of her, she tilted it from left to right, a slow, leisurely examination, as she might admire a coveted new trinket.

  “Perfect,” Veronique murmured. “Sharpened just as I asked.” Was she looking forward to the bloodletting? Did causing others to die give her pleasure?

  Clearly attuned to Juliana’s horror, Veronique looked up. Her amber gaze sharpened. “I ask one last time, Juliana—”

  “Why ask?” Juliana didn’t bother to caution her words any longer. “You do not believe me when I say I do not remember. You want to start murdering innocent folk.”

  Shocked cries rippled through the crowd.

  “’Tis true,” Edouard yelled, obviously eager to stir up unrest. “You are in danger,”—he winced when one of the mercenaries kicked him—“all of you!”

  As screams and frantic shouts broke out in the crowd, Veronique’s stare on Juliana didn’t waver. “The deaths today will be upon your conscience.”

  Juliana shook her head. “Not mine. Yours.”

  A brutal smile defined Veronique’s lips. “You are trying to delay me.” She whirled, facing the closest group of onlookers, mostly maidservants holding tightly to their children; they recoiled in terror. “Now . . .”

  Oh, God! “Do you really believe that your killing will prompt my memories?” Juliana shouted. “Did your wretched bag of bones tell you that?”

  Veronique’s whole body stiffened. Slowly, her head turned. “Strange, you should say that. My bones went missing yesterday.”

  Juliana raised her chin. Stay calm. Keep a clear mind . . .

  “So, too, did Azarel. My men have not yet found her. I thought she had taken them.” Veronique’s eyes snapped into menacing slits. “You know where they are.”

  “I do.”

  Rage burned in her eyes. “You stole them?”

  “I took them from the guard I rendered unconscious and then hid them. I do remember where they are—somewhere you will never find them.”

  Veronique hissed. “Why, you—”

  “Put down the knife. Let me, Edouard, and Kaine go free. Promise you will not hurt any of these folk. In return, I will tell you where to find your bones.”

  Veronique tapped a finger to her chin, a gesture that implied she pondered Juliana’s demands. Then she whirled, her red hair snaking out around her. “A tempting offer. Yet mayhap ’tis time I started a whole new collection—”

  “Nay—”

  “—of fresh bones, cut from the dead!”

  “Nay!” Juliana cried, bile stinging her mouth. “Veronique—!”

  Horrified screams arose. Folk scrambled to flee.

  Shrieking a laugh, Veronique snatched a young girl, no more than five or six years old, from the throng and dragged her forward. Sobbing, the girl looked back at a crying woman struggling to reach her; a mercenary kept the mother back.

  “Let her go,” Juliana pleaded, almost choking on her revulsion.

  Veronique anchored her hand into the girl’s long braid and twisted. The girl cried out, her face crumpling with pain, even as Veronique jerked her head back and set the dagger at the girl’s exposed throat.

  The terror in the young girl’s tear-filled eyes . . . A girl too young to have really lived or loved . . .

  Juliana pressed her arm over her stomach and gasped, fighting to draw breaths into constricted lungs. This girl didn’t deserve to die. Couldn’t die. “Veronique,” Juliana croaked.

  “I knew you would give in,” Veronique snarled, spittle at the corners of her mouth. “You pathetic, weak—”

  A shout echoed from the wall walk above. “Milady!”

  “Be quiet!” Veronique screeched, and pulled the weeping girl’s head back farther.

  “Milady! Riders,” another man cried from above. “Approaching fast.”

  Veronique glared up at the battlements. “What?”

  “How many?” Tye snapped, his hand moving to his sword.

  Juliana blinked up at the men on the wall walk, then looked at Edouard. Wariness still defined his posture, but he appeared to be . . . grinning.

  Catching her gaze, he winked at her.

  Winked!

  Her pulse thundered, while the guard on the wall walk shouted down, “Two score riders. Likely more.”

  Veronique spat an oath. Her furious gaze snapped to Edouard.

  He smiled. “That will be my father.”

  ***

  Edouard laughed, the sound rich and jubilant, as Veronique’s face contorted with shocked outrage. That look alone made his heart leap with pleasure. Knowing she’d believed him left to her depravity made this moment all the sweeter.

  Today, his sire would wrest Waddesford from her clutches. At last, his father would see her punished for all the pain and treachery she’d caused not only the de Lanceau’s, but so many others through the years.

  Hope shone in Juliana’s eyes. “Are you certain ’tis your sire, Edouard?”

  “I am.”

  “You knew!” Veronique shrieked, her gaze still upon him. She shoved the young girl from her grasp. The child stumbled, scrambled to her feet, and ran, crying, to her mother.

  Edouard shrugged, as well as he could with his wrists bound and mercenaries at his sides. “I had my suspicions.”

  The knife shifted in Veronique’s white-knuckled hand. “I see now. The missive was strangely worded. You would understand it held a message.”

  “I told you.” Tye stormed to her side, his expression dark with fury. “I warned you last night, Mother. I said ’twas too simple, but you refused to heed me—”

  Veronique trembled on a violent curse. She turned on him, the knife flashing in the sunlight. “Cease!”

  Easily dodging the errant strike, Tye’s brows raised. “Swear at me all you wish, Mother. However, I do not intend to become my father’s prisoner.”

  “Neither do I.” She thrust her hands at the mercenaries amongst the throng, looking uneasily at one another while still keeping the castle folk corralled. “Give all the menservants weapons,” she shouted at them. “They shall fight for us or their families will die. Then you will go to the battlements. Do not let the army get near. Kill anyone who tries to cross the moat. Do you understand?”

  The warriors glanced at each other. Some looked disgruntled, an opportunity Edouard mustn’t let slip by.

  “Obey Veronique, and you will die,” he called. “You cannot defeat my sire. Lay down your arms and surrender to him.”

  “Silence, Edouard,” Veronique shrilled. “Win this battle for me, my mercenaries, and I will pay you thrice what I do now!” She pointed to the warriors guarding Edouard and Kaine. “You, too, shall be so rewarded.”

  “Aye, milady,” the mercenaries said, before those in the crowd rushed off to do her bidding.

  Veronique gestured to Tye. “Round up the remaining mercenaries. Send them to guard the gatehouse. No one is to enter or leave that way.” She thrust a gnarled finger upward. “Then join me there on the wall walk.”

  Tye’s mouth flattened, and his relentl
ess gaze clashed with Edouard’s. Fury raced anew through Edouard. Digging his nails into his bonds, he vowed to get free and ensure his bastard brother never escaped this fight. “What of our hostages?” Tye said. “Shall we chain them back in the dungeon?”

  “They are to come to the wall walk with me. There, we will not only survive this battle, but negotiate its bloody end to our benefit.”

  “Mother—”

  Annoyance flashed in Veronique’s eyes. “Do not make me question your allegiance, Tye. Especially not on the day we will confront your father.”

  “Why would you? When have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?”

  “Just do as I told you,” Veronique snapped.

  Tye growled, then loped away into the crowd.

  When Veronique’s attention returned to Edouard, he braced for a struggle. She might think she’d haul him up to the battlements, but he’d fight her. The sooner he got free of his bonds, the sooner he’d open the gatehouse to his sire. And his father would win.

  First, though, with Tye no longer close at hand, he had to get Juliana away from Veronique. The older woman looked angry enough to kill Juliana out of spite.

  A brittle laugh rippled from Veronique. “You are still thinking of escape, Edouard?” Her brazen gaze slid over him. “A pity you waste your stamina on such useless pursuits. Your life is mine to do with as I please. As”—Veronique turned to face Juliana—“is hers.”

  “Run!” Edouard shouted, as the malevolence in the older woman’s expression crested. Just as Juliana attempted to dash into the throng, Veronique grabbed her arm. Screaming, Juliana tried to wrench free, but with a brutal yank, Veronique unbalanced Juliana and she half fell, her skirts dragging across the dirt—enough of a delay for Veronique to shove the knife against Juliana’s side.

  Alarm, as biting as the flick of a whip, lashed through Edouard. Juliana slowly rose to her feet, her breathing shaky. Did she feel the pinch of the dagger’s tip through her gown? Was her flawless skin pierced? He should have tried sooner to get her to safety.

  “Now,” Veronique said, raising her voice to carry above the growing din of battle preparations. “Juliana and I will proceed”—she tipped her head—“to that stairwell. Edouard and Kaine, you will follow. If you refuse, or try to fight the mercenaries escorting you, I will shove my dagger into Juliana’s flesh. She can still tell me where the jewels are, while she is bleeding to death. I will not repeat my warning.”

  Juliana’s face paled, but she held her head high.

  Stay strong, a voice inside him said. I will protect you, Juliana. Because I love you.

  “Walk,” Veronique ordered.

  Juliana started toward the keep, walking as though terrified to misstep.

  Edouard scowled. Never again would Juliana suffer at Veronique’s hand. Never!

  Without waiting for the mercenaries to prod him, Edouard followed, aware of Kaine’s limping footsteps close behind. While walking, Edouard continued to work his nails into his bonds. He must undo the knot. He could fight with his hands tied, but if he could get them free, he’d be far more lethal.

  The dankness of the stairwell closed in on him. He trudged up the narrow steps and, moments later, emerged on the wall walk. He stepped out onto the windblown stone, caught Veronique’s curse, and followed her gaze to the dust cloud churned up by the approaching forces, all the knights and men-at-arms his sire had been able to summon at short notice.

  The faint pounding of hooves carried on the wind.

  Veronique forced Juliana forward, until she stood almost directly opposite the entrance to the bailey. “Line Edouard and Kaine up alongside her,” Veronique said. “I want de Lanceau to see them when he rides in to give his surrender.”

  Edouard loosed a disparaging snort. “My father will never yield. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

  Veronique laughed. “Oh, but he will.”

  A KNIGHT’S PERSUASION

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The morning breeze stung Juliana’s eyes and tore at her garments as she stood on the battlements, held by two mercenaries. Shouts and the sounds of weapons being readied for the fight carried up from the bailey below. Her thoughts, however, hardly registered the commotion. All her sharpened senses were held hostage by the odors of her guards: a pungent blend of grubby leather and sweat.

  The mercenary to her left obviously hadn’t washed in months. Juliana caught her breath and hoped the next wind gust past the castle walls would defray the smell.

  Oh, God, ’twas selfish and senseless to focus on the mercenaries’ odors, when she—and of course Edouard and Kaine—faced far greater concerns. In truth, though, the very male smells cut sharper edges into her fear. Rebellion might seethe inside her, but the men restraining her were large, strong, and well trained with their weapons.

  If, on Veronique’s orders, they tried to harm Juliana to prove their intentions to de Lanceau, she’d fight as fiercely as she could. The men, though, already had the advantage. The oaf to her left held her arm in a ruthless grip; he also held a dagger at her throat. The man on her right, his grasp equally as bruising, cut circles in the air with his sword, no doubt readying his muscles for the upcoming assault.

  A giggle, tinged with hysteria, bubbled inside Juliana. On any day in her life, had she ever imagined herself standing on Waddesford’s battlements as a bound captive, an impending sacrifice to Veronique’s wickedness? Not likely.

  Yet here she was.

  How Juliana hated the cold touch of the dagger against her neck; despised the grim sense of helplessness; welcomed the anger churning within her, ready to be summoned to the fore. However the morning’s events unfolded, she wouldn’t be used to help bring about Geoffrey de Lanceau’s downfall—or Edouard’s death.

  A shout from below drew her gaze through the gap between the closest stone merlons to the bailey. Mercenaries bellowed, ordering servants carrying longbows and arrows to the battlements. Women and children scurried to obey other thugs’ shouted commands. In the shadows of the gatehouse, she saw Tye talking to several men, gesturing as he relayed instructions.

  A stifling sense of impending catastrophe seemed to linger in the air. How many people would die today? With so many men at his command, and having traveled many leagues, de Lanceau wouldn’t be denied what he wanted. The thought of the bloodshed to come . . . It made her feel ill.

  A grunt sounded beside her, then the crack of a brutal slap.

  “Bitch!” Edouard snapped, his focus on Kaine, who’d fallen on one knee. “You know his left leg is injured.” From Edouard’s lethal expression, he looked ready to break free of the mercenaries holding him and wallop Veronique, but one of the thugs pressed the tip of his sword against Edouard’s stomach, forcing him to remain still.

  “Kaine will stand,” Veronique said, “or I will slay him now.”

  His face white with agony, Kaine straightened. His left leg trembled, even as he forced a lopsided grin. “No need to kill me.”

  Juliana offered him a sympathetic smile, for his attempt at humor took a great deal of inner resolve; he was clearly in pain. Edouard exchanged a glance with Kaine, then nodded, before his defiant gaze shifted back to Veronique.

  With a smug arch of her eyebrows, she turned her back to him to peer down at the bailey. Standing as she was, the skirts of her dark red gown flapping in the breeze, she resembled a gaudy, deformed bird, waiting to swoop down and snatch unsuspecting victims below.

  Juliana shivered and then sensed Edouard’s stare upon her. In his blazing eyes, she saw all her own emotions. While their gazes held, her spirit lightened, drawn to his inner strength. Inspired by the warrior force that was integral to who he was, to his father’s legacy, and to the noble de Lanceaus who’d come before.

  In that moment, she wondered how love felt between a man and a woman. Was it as profound as what glowed inside her now? Was it anywhere near as wonderful as her memory of that breathless moment when she lay in the darkness, when she’d thought Edouard wou
ld kiss her?

  Of all her regrets, she wished she’d experienced love.

  With him.

  As their stares continued to hold, she blinked away the sting of tears. If she had to die today, she’d make her last moments meaningful. She’d fight for Mayda, for little Rosemary, for all she wished she could have experienced with Edouard. To her very last breath, she’d do all in her ability to ensure Edouard and his sire triumphed.

  As though guessing her thoughts, his eyes widened slightly, and then his gaze dropped to his bound hands. A deliberate gesture.

  A signal?

  He’d been working at the rope knot. She’d tried to dig her nails into hers as they climbed the stairwell, but the knot was too tight.

  Had he managed to loosen his bonds?

  An excited tingle swept over her skin. She forced herself to stare straight ahead again, not wanting to risk what Edouard had divulged.

  The armed riders were near. The approaching group had separated into two lines that spread along the perimeter of the castle wall. Not so close that the riders were in range of the mercenaries, but near enough to make a formidable impression.

  Once the riders had reached their intended destination, they halted, horses facing the castle. The distant thud of hoofbeats lessened. Then stopped.

  Sudden silence, punctuated only by the whistling of the wind, spread down the wall walk. Even Veronique stood motionless, her attention fixed upon the riders, her hands splayed into the breeze, as though she sought insight from it.

  Juliana curled her fingers against her bonds and dug her nails into the knot. If Edouard had loosened his bindings, she’d try, too.

  Beyond the castle, a single rider separated from the neat line of warriors. He wore an iron helm that covered all but the lower third of his face, a flowing black cloak, and a surcoat decorated with embroidery that flashed in the sunlight.

  “Geoffrey!” Veronique trembled and smoothed a hand over her windblown tresses.

  Halting several paces ahead of the others, the rider lifted his head. A moment later, Juliana heard a shout, distorted by the wind. Had he ordered the castle to surrender? If so, battle was only moments away. She had to get free, so she could fight.