by Julia Latham
He headed back for the rear tower with the dungeon at its base. His cell was at least warmer than the outdoors. He shook the brazier to dislodge ash, added more coal, then hovered near it until he was warmer. Closing the shackle about his ankle once more, he secured it with a leather tie, just in case Diana paid him an unexpected visit.
As Diana opened the cell door without the key, it discomfited her to know Bannaster had been unlocked through the night, but he was just rising from his pallet. He wore only a dirty shirt and breeches, his hair was sleep-tossed, and his face was darkly stubbled with several days’ growth of beard. But yet he was a fine man to look upon.
Hands on his hips, he studied her as if waiting to see what she’d do. She was still unused to so much attention from a man, but how could she blame him, when she was the only person he saw?
He stood stiff and tall, saying nothing, watching her with a new intensity. When she turned back to get her sack of coal and torches, he moved with her, the chain rattling, almost as if he were stalking her.
How foolish of him. He only had the reach of the chain.
Yet this morn, the small cell seemed as if it could barely contain him. Yesterday eve he’d almost been flirting with her, a new tactic. So was this more of the same?
When she pushed his tray toward him, he didn’t sit down, only looked at her.
“Surely you are hungry, my lord,” she said demurely.
“Tell me again why you’re keeping me here, keeping me from meeting your sister.”
She put her hands on her hips and faced him. “I already told you. You are not the sort of man she should marry. She needs someone…safe.”
“Safe?” His laugh was harsh. “Tell me again what you think I’ve done to merit this treatment. I might not even like your sister.”
“Unlikely. All men like her well enough.”
“Is that sarcasm I hear?”
She said nothing, not wanting to reveal more.
“Go ahead, Diana,” he said in a lower voice that almost bespoke a growl. “Tell me again what I’ve done. You said I have a terrible reputation.”
“You do.”
“Tell me what you’ve heard.”
She paused, moistening her lips, when she knew full well she wasn’t truly nervous. But his gaze went right to her mouth, as if he studied too deeply whatever she did. It made her feel…uncomfortable, uneasy, like her blood was suddenly too warm in her body.
If he wanted some of the truth, she would give it to him. “You’re a man who would hold a woman hostage when she refused to marry you.”
He began to move then, pacing back and forth, his intense brown eyes never leaving her face.
“And where did you hear that story?” he asked.
She was ready for that, for she could hardly proclaim her source as the League of the Blade. “To amuse us, my brother sends court gossip.”
“Instead of visiting you.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded. What had her brother said or done while in London?
“You alone are trying to protect your sister, not your brother. I know he’s not here. Obviously he cares little enough about his sisters to accompany me and introduce me to Cicely.”
“My brother is not the topic. You are.”
“Then tell me what stories he wrote about me.”
“You wanted to marry the daughter of the earl of Alderley, and when you discovered she was already betrothed and awaiting her groom, you took her hostage while you went to persuade the king to nullify the contract between their families.”
“Fact number one, I did not keep Lady Elizabeth imprisoned, because she and her maid changed places.”
Diana rolled her eyes. “You held a woman imprisoned to have your way.”
“You’re keeping me imprisoned, and that’s the worst thing you can say about me?” he asked with exasperation.
“Not the worst.”
“Did you ever wonder at my motivations?” he demanded. “And yes, my goal was to marry Lady Elizabeth. And her maid was in a luxurious bedchamber, not a dungeon cell! My cousin the king had just taken the throne, and there were still unsettled shires throughout the country. My holding that part of Gloucestershire would have done much for the peace of Henry’s realm.”
“Not to mention make you an earl,” she said, trying to keep the triumph from her voice. What was it about this man that made her want to best him?
“Aye, it would have done that as well,” he agreed, almost too pleasantly. “But then I would have had even more sway to aid my cousin. I needed a wife, I do not deny it. Were my methods misplaced? Aye, I agree to that—now. But at the time, my only guide was the knowledge that my father and his father before him both persuaded women who did not belong to them to wed. It is how things are often done.”
“And you didn’t have any other guide than your family’s past, did you?” she said slowly, a new realization dawning. “Because you’d only been raised a priest. Did you have any contact with the king’s court in your youth?”
He frowned, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “None.”
“Did your father not discuss his decision with you, show you a nobleman’s duties?”
His frown grew even more ominous. “I see not what this has to do with—”
“You did not know what to do, did you?” she asked in disbelief. “You’d had no training in anything but the church, and then your whole family died. You became the viscount at just eighteen years of age, and then you spent so much time learning the art of war, that you had none to spare for the art of diplomacy.”
He took a threatening step toward her, and the chain tightened as he was forced to halt. She didn’t move, only raised her chin. Her breath was coming too fast, and she felt far too excited verbally jousting with him, making discoveries. Had his capture of Lady Elizabeth really only been an ignorant mistake? But there were darker rumors.
“I had men to counsel me,” he said coolly.
“Then they didn’t counsel you well.”
She thought she saw the briefest flash of regret in his dark eyes, but the wall that hid his emotions went up again. He was once more the proud viscount, a man who’d worked hard to deserve such a title.
“If it helps you to make a decision about me,” he continued, “I have been punished for these mistakes.”
“How?”
“I am unmarried as of yet, am I not?”
There was a bitter twist to his mouth, and she found herself wondering if he was lonely—or only angry at not having his way.
“It will only take time before people begin to forget,” she said. “That is not much punishment.”
“Time is not enough for you, is it? Or are you upset because your sister is just desperate enough to consider me?”
He was right, which made her angry. One moment, she found herself almost admiring him for trying to better himself, and the next he could make her furious again.
But he was her prisoner, a man she had to examine to satisfy the League.
She would make herself indispensable to them again, so that she could be free.
Chapter 7
Talking about his mistakes was not so terrible, Tom told himself. He was able to counter her arguments, show his motivations, perhaps change her mind.
Until Diana said, “But that’s not all you did to those two women.”
And then he was inundated by the vague memories of one foolish night, where in his frustration he’d imbibed too heavily. Two women had almost suffered the consequences.
Diana was watching him far too closely, and he suddenly didn’t want her to know the kind of man he’d almost let himself be. Oh, he’d learned from that night, had been appalled at what he’d almost done, and had never again drank like that. But his resolve didn’t end his guilt.
He couldn’t pace, he couldn’t look away. All he could do was meet her watchful, suspicious gaze. “Aye, I won’t deny that terrible night. I’d had far too much ale.”
“Yo
u tried to force yourself on Lady Elizabeth.”
Her voice was so flat and emotionless that he almost flinched.
“Nay, whoever told you that was lying,” he said with conviction. “I wanted a kiss, a seduction, but it never even came close to that.”
Because he’d been stopped, thank God. He didn’t like to remember that night. When one woman had eluded him, he’d tried to seduce her friend. He’d been so close to becoming like his brother.
But who had told Diana? he wondered sharply. Anne and Elizabeth—and both of their new husbands—would never have spoken of it. A soldier or two, perhaps a servant, had seen his behavior, but their words would never have reached Diana’s brother at court.
He studied her too closely, for suddenly she seemed to retreat from him. What was she hiding?
“You must have learned something from your mistakes,” she said grudgingly. “My brother also told me that you had done a good deed this summer past in London, helping identify traitors to the king.”
“Nay, a brave woman did that. I only offered brief assistance.” He knew his voice sounded absent as his mind played over this newly revealed information of hers. Her brother could have had knowledge of the foiled plot of traitors, but it was not commonly known, and the baron was not one of the king’s councillors.
Who could know all those things in his past, but the League of the Blade? They played a shadowy part in what they wanted to, and then all word of them disappeared, sometimes for years. But when a king—or members of his realm—needed them, they eased their way in. They’d helped to reunite Lady Elizabeth and her betrothed, so they’d seen Tom at his worst. And then last summer, when the king’s life had been threatened by traitors within his own court, the League had been there as well.
Did Diana know someone within the League? Had they contacted her about him? Had they finally decided to determine if he had murdered his brother?
He couldn’t demand the truth from her without revealing his suspicions. She might not even know it all. He would have to bide his time and discover his own truths. But he couldn’t do that from within this dungeon.
He looked down at the food she’d brought him to break his fast. With a rattle of his chain, he sat down cross-legged, as if prepared to eat, when instead he was plucking the tie from the shackle at his ankle, and reaching for the belt buckle tucked into his waist.
When she turned away, he said, “You cannot keep me here forever.”
“I know,” she said softly, not facing him. Then she seemed to stiffen, and shot him a determined look. “But you will not marry my sister.”
He only arched a brow and grinned, making her stomp to the cell door. As she pulled it shut behind her, once again he was there to block the lock, and as she jiggled the key in frustration, he prayed she would not come back inside and see him unchained. He didn’t want to fight her, not here, not like this. He needed to know her secrets; he needed to make her trust him.
Diana felt…awful. She hurried across the inner ward, barely paying attention to where she was going. The sun was shining, reflecting off the snow and ice, almost blinding her. She told herself that her spying for the League was really going to help Bannaster, if he deserved it. The League wanted to know if he’d changed, matured.
But a man who would attack a woman—two women, according to the League—did a man really change from that? He’d admitted to being drunk, confirming part of the League’s account. But he hadn’t wanted to discuss it, had minimized the severity of what he’d almost done. She had never really thought him a man like his brother, but forcing women had been the late viscount’s specialty.
Diana couldn’t believe it of Bannaster. Not the true, terrible malevolence of knowingly hurting a woman. But he’d looked…guilty, uneasy, as if the memories were not pleasant. He had changed…hadn’t he? Throughout her years of collecting stories about him from the League, she knew that at least his servants respected him, which certainly hadn’t been true of the late viscount.
“Diana?”
Diana stumbled to a halt, face-to-face with Cicely. What was her sister doing out in the cold?
“Where do you keep disappearing to?” Cicely demanded with suspicion, her cloak swirling about her.
“Since when have you kept track of my movements?” Diana asked, glad that her voice sounded so very normal. “Ah, you needed something done within the keep.”
“The servants hate me,” Cicely said, frowning, “but they listen to you.”
Diana began to walk toward the keep again, leading her sister away from the tower. “Perhaps if you treated them better—”
“I am so tired of such a refrain!” Cicely said. “I am their mistress.”
“And they would not disobey you.”
“Nay, but…it always takes them so much longer than when they obey you.”
“And you are in a hurry?” Diana’s breath misted before her face, and she shielded her eyes against the glare.
“Well…I do wish the great hall to be ready for our important visitor.”
Diana said nothing.
“He is coming to meet me,” Cicely insisted.
There was a new desperation in her sister’s voice, and Diana found herself actually feeling sorry for her. Perhaps Cicely would not be so miserable if she had what she’d always wanted, a husband and children of her own. Even Diana understood what it was to want to truly belong somewhere.
Patiently, Diana said, “I feel like this is fate’s way of telling you that Lord Bannaster is not the right man for you.”
“But there are no other men!” Cicely said, her voice almost shrill. She caught Diana’s arm, pulling her to a stop. “I cannot lose him!”
They stared at each other as if across a great distance, neither understanding the other. But Diana understood Cicely’s need to distract herself with whatever happened to be closest.
Cicely’s eyes narrowed. “You did not say where you’ve been going each morn.”
And she’d decided to distract herself by annoying Diana.
“And where do I always go?” Diana asked with exaggerated patience. “To train with the men.”
“But they are not yet at the tiltyard.”
Diana had been prepared for Cicely’s questions from the beginning. “Sometimes I practice alone.”
“Surely you have not suddenly had the good sense to be embarrassed by your unwomanly behavior.”
Diana arched a brow in amusement. “Of course not.”
“I do not see a sword.”
Pulling the dagger swiftly from its hiding place within the girdle about her waist, Diana was too satisfied by the squeak of surprise her sister emitted.
Cicely rallied herself. “And you are not in your absurd version of male clothing.”
“I must be prepared to battle wearing many different garments. When I protect you from a thief as we journey, you will be grateful for my forethought.”
Cicely only groaned and walked more swiftly. “Come. I wish the cook to be prepared at a moment’s notice for the viscount’s arrival.”
At supper that night, Diana was feeling distracted. Bannaster’s men had returned that afternoon, cold and tired and discouraged, adding to the lump in her chest that was her guilt. From her place at the head table, she watched them pick through their food with tired, sad movements, as if they had begun to realize that their quest might be lost. And Bannaster had been right—what if one of them was injured in this useless pursuit she was putting them through?
To her left, Cicely’s worry had coalesced into an anger she took out on her food, slicing her meat almost viciously with her knife. Bannaster’s impending arrival had brightened her every manner, and now his absence was making her behavior even worse. Diana feared the servants would soon be cringing from the slicing of her tongue when she spoke to them.
There was a sudden pounding at the double doors, and then they were thrown open, knocking back the young usher who’d gone to investigate. Several soldiers rose at the loud
intrusion, and then in shock, Diana did the same.
Viscount Bannaster walked into the great hall, snow perched on his cap and dusting the shoulders of his cloak. He was carrying his saddlebags.
God above, how had he escaped? And was he now ready to denounce her before all? She thought of all she would lose and her stomach curled into knots, even as her chin lifted to face him with pride.
She could not speak his name, for she wasn’t supposed to know his identity. She glanced at Cicely, who stared at him wide-eyed. She knew her sister was closely examining his garments, his noble bearing, his handsome features, but was hardly daring to hope.
“Lord Bannaster!” Talbot, the captain of his men-at-arms, came to his feet, his voice full of relief and gladness.
Cicely gasped, and then gave Diana a smug, victorious look, as if the resolution of his disappearance had been a battle between them.
Bannaster strode forward through the rushes on the floor, down the row between the trestle tables, straight for the dais and the head table, although he did not look directly at Diana. She felt frozen in place, full of dread, knowing her mission for the League had failed, knowing that her own security, meager though it was, would now be lost. What punishment did the king hand out to a woman who imprisoned one of his relatives? She sank slowly into her chair, her back yet stiff, watching as Bannaster’s three men-at-arms surrounded him, asking questions all at once. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mary and Joan standing near the entrance to the kitchens, trying to hide their expressions of stunned dismay. Diana vowed to protect their part in her foolish plot.
The grin never left Bannaster’s face as he stood among his men, and he finally laughed and held up his hands. “Wait, wait, allow me to meet my hosts, and to explain everything to all of you.”
Meet his hosts? There would be no meeting, just a revelation—and her imprisonment. She clasped her fingers together in her lap to still their trembling. She’d taken a risk, and lost.
