Tye chuckled and released her hair.
Beside Claire, Lady Brackendale stirred, her tousled head lifting from the pillow. She peered blearily at Tye.
“Good morning, milady. Did you sleep well?” Tye asked.
The older woman snorted, a sound of disgust.
“I will take that as agreement.” Tye’s attention returned to Claire. “There is food waiting in your chamber for you to break your fast. A maidservant is also bringing water for you to wash.”
“Thank you,” Claire said, her mouth dry from sleep.
“I will escort you back to your room.”
“Must you?” The thought of spending another day all alone and a prisoner made her cringe inwardly.
Tye’s brows rose. “What is wrong with your chamber?”
The dangerous note in his voice made her uneasy. In truth she had no right to complain; she’d rather be locked in her room than in the dungeon. Still, holding tightly to the blanket, she said, “Surely you will not confine us to our chambers every day that you are lord here.”
“Lady Brackendale is to be confined until I say otherwise, as I said in the hall.” His eyes narrowed. “I am a man of my word.”
A man of his word. That was a matter of debate, yet as he spoke, Claire’s thoughts slid back to the discussion she’d had with Lady Brackendale last night. Keeping their voices hushed, they’d plotted ways for Claire to get down to the storage rooms. The plan they’d devised was risky and more likely to fail than succeed, but she’d do all she could to make it work. First, though, she had to be able to walk freely about the keep.
“Indeed, you did insist on her ladyship’s imprisonment,” Claire said, “because you were demonstrating to all those in the great hall that you were the one in power. However, there is no longer any doubt that you are the ruler here. You and your men have full control of Wode. There is no way any of us can escape.”
“I am glad you understand that,” Tye said with a tight smile.
“Since we know we cannot flee the castle,” Claire added, “we pose no threat to you. I am certain I speak for Mary and her ladyship when I say I would enjoy eating with them in the great hall, and walking in the gardens, and sitting by the hall fire in the evenings, instead of being shut away in my chamber. Such activities might also help to ease her ladyship’s nightmares.”
Tye shook his head. “’Tis not—”
“If naught else, will you grant us a short walk outside in the fresh air? Surely ’tis not too much to ask?”
“Beware, Kitten. You sound as though you are setting demands.”
“Not demands.” She lowered her gaze and softened her tone so she wouldn’t appear confrontational. “Requests.”
“Requests will only be granted if I wish to grant them.”
She fought the stirring of resentment. “Of course—”
“And if I see there is some…benefit…to me.”
Claire tensed. She had no doubt as to the kind of benefit he meant.
A gasp came from Lady Brackendale, now sitting up in bed, her blanket drawn up around her. “How dare you make such a suggestion?”
Tye’s hand settled on Claire’s shoulder. As she drew in unsteady breaths, his strong, bronzed fingers slid along the fold of the blanket bunched up near her chin, a light but controlling touch. One swift yank of the fabric, and he could bare her breast again, and there was naught she could to do stop him.
“Oh, I dare,” he murmured. “Why should I not?”
“She is an innocent young lady, who deserves the attentions of a man far better than you,” Lady Brackendale bit out, in a tone to make a grown man cower.
Tye’s face, caught in a wash of sunlight, hardened into a mask of fury. His hand slid from Claire and balled into a fist. “I am well aware of who and what I am—and who and what she is. I have learned a great deal about her since we first met, now that I have read some of her letters.”
“Mercy,” Claire choked out. “Did you read my missives to Henry?” They’d been returned to her after being discovered in Henry’s belongings, and she’d tucked them in with the letters she’d received from him.
“So far, I have read a few from your sister.” Tye smiled again. “Tonight, I will read more. And then, there is your journal…”
She could only imagine what he’d think of her then, of the mockery he’d make of her tale about kissing.
Through a haze of embarrassment, she heard her ladyship say, “Do not fret, Claire. A thug like him cannot read. He is just saying he can to torment you.”
“I can read,” Tye said.
Lady Brackendale laughed. “You? Really? Who taught you such a skill?”
“A woman I knew in France.” Smirking, he added, “Shall I fetch one of Claire’s letters and read it aloud? I will try to find a good one.”
Claire winced.
“Heavens, nay.” Her ladyship huffed. “I can quite imagine what those letters might say.”
“You?” Tye grinned. “Really?”
The older woman’s expression soured. “If you have any respect for Claire, you will return those private letters to her. And, you will stay away from her. Far away.”
“You are in no position to tell me what to do, Lady Brackendale.” Glowering, he stepped away. “Claire, your visit here is finished.”
“But—”
“Again, you contradict me, Claire? ’Tis clear you do not respect me, either.”
The rage in Tye’s voice silenced the rest of what Claire wanted to say. He was right. She didn’t respect him. She doubted she ever would.
As though attuned to her mutinous thoughts, he caught her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Think on that,” he said, “before you dare to make any more requests.”
Sitting in the round wooden bathing tub positioned by the hearth, Veronique scrubbed her bare arm. Soap lathered on her glistening skin and on the linen washcloth in her hand, while the heady scent of roses wafted from the bathwater that was already growing cold, despite the nearby fire.
Sighing, she turned her attention to her other arm.
“You are frowning, Love,” Braden said from the bed across the chamber in the north tower. He lay beneath the blankets, one broad arm folded behind his head as he watched her bathe. The gemstone eyes of the skull ring on his right hand glinted in the light cast by the fire and the morning sunshine filtering in through cracks in the shutters covering the window.
Veronique pouted. “There is a draft from the window. Also, the water is no longer hot.”
He chuckled. “Not because of the servants’ lack of effort. They hurried up and down the stairs with their buckets as though they were being whipped.”
Wrinkling her nose, Veronique said, “I wanted to whip them, the way some of them glared at me.”
“I know you did. You showed remarkable restraint.”
He lingered on the word restraint, and she smiled. “So I did. Just like last eve.”
They’d fornicated on the bed, on the trestle table, on the floor… She’d made him work hard to pleasure her, but she had no doubt he’d enjoyed every moment of their noisy, exquisite, satisfying couplings.
Thinking of the way he’d thrust into her, dominated her, his manhood so hard and thick and impatient, brought a flush skittering over her skin. Her nipples hardened.
“Love?” he purred, levering up onto his elbows. The blankets slipped from his upper body to reveal more of his well-muscled chest sprinkled with dark hairs. She’d crawled atop that stunning body of his last night, suckled and teased and caressed him until he was sweating, panting, and swearing he could endure no more.
“Mmm?” she finally answered, concentrating on washing her hand. The soap slipped over her skin, bubbled between her fingers, dropped with a whisper onto the hazy surface of the water. She was acutely aware of every sound and sensation as her body stirred in lusty anticipation…
The bedding rustled, but she didn’t look at him. ’Twould ruin all. She’d ignore him until he came t
o her, as he would. As she expected.
His footfalls thudded on the planks, and then he lowered to his knees beside the tub. He caught hold of her face and forced her to meet his gaze. Heat blazed in his eyes.
“Do not ignore me, Wench,” he growled.
Heat throbbed between her legs. How she loved when his passion roughened. “Give me a reason, then, to give you my full attention.”
“I will.” His voice hardened. “First, though, you will tell me when I will receive my due.”
The tips of his fingers dug into her jaw. He wasn’t hurting her, but clearly expected her immediate reply. She pulled free of his hold, the submerged half of her hair stirring in the water, and said calmly, “You know what must happen first. Tye must kill his sire.”
“Then I will be awarded a castle of my own,” Braden said.
“Of course. We have discussed this many times before.” Tsking, she stroked his cheek with her wet, dripping hand. “You must be patient.”
“I have been, for a long while already,” he grumbled.
“I know.” She forced a soothing tone, even as she silently scorned his impatience. The lure of ruling a keep of his own had kept Braden under her control for months; she must keep him eager for that reward, at least until Tye’s victory. “I promise, you will get your castle very soon.”
“I do not want just any keep. I want a large, profitable estate. I want a fortress as fine as Wode.”
She bit down on her tongue. Greedy bastard.
“I am entitled to such a rich reward. You cannot deny it.”
Can I not? Rage welled within her as she raised her left knee to scrub it.
“I risked my life more than once for you and Tye,” Braden added while she lathered her skin. “Without me, you would never have been able to conquer Wode.”
Greedy and also bloody arrogant, her mind amended. Yet, in truth, she’d known that ages ago. She’d found his arrogance highly compelling, especially when she’d recognized his ambition was as great as her own.
With effort, she tamped down her anger. Too much could still be lost, despite Tye’s takeover of Wode. For now, Tye needed Braden. So did she. When she’d used her rune stones last night, they’d revealed that to her.
Over the slosh of water, she said, “You are right. We would never have succeeded without you.”
“I will have my fine keep, then.”
She met his stare again. “When de Lanceau is dead, you will have your pick of his estates. Does that please you?”
Braden’s eyes lit with anticipation. “Tye will agree to that arrangement?”
“I will ensure that he does.”
“I will hold you to that promise, Love.”
She paused, her soapy hand on her raised right knee. Surely, Braden hadn’t threatened her. He well knew she wouldn’t tolerate that kind of boldness, even from him.
His callused fingers slid along her jaw, as if to soothe the rage he sensed churning within her. “When I am lord,” he murmured, “I will not just attend my own desires, but also yours.”
“How so?” she asked, unable to quell a flutter of delight.
His fingers glided, caressed. “You will stand by my side as lady of my castle. You will have a title, privilege, all that you have ever wanted: gowns of the finest silk; glittering jewels; servants to attend to your every wish, no matter how small.”
Ah. Mayhap he was not such a damned fool after all. “Will you truly give me such luxuries?”
Smiling, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. “I will.”
She sighed into his mouth, for his kisses were as seductive as his words had been. His lips demanded, claimed, and she leaned toward him, taking all that he offered.
Drawing back, he whispered, “I love you.”
She froze, her breath jammed like a lump of stone in her throat. He loved her? Many of her lovers through the years had said those very same words, but they were acknowledgment of infatuation, naught more. She wasn’t the kind of woman men loved.
Braden was jesting; he had to be. Tittering, she said, “Of course you—”
“I do.”
“You—?”
“Love you,” he repeated, his expression solemn. “You know ’tis true, aye?”
Astonishment and pleasure rippled through her, weaving their way into her heart that had shattered, shriveled, and died after Geoffrey de Lanceau’s rejection. Loving and losing de Lanceau had hurt beyond measure; she’d vowed never to love again. She would not allow such vulnerability, for that weakness had almost destroyed her. Instead, she’d manipulate, use, take what she wanted and needed from men, but never offer her heart.
With Braden’s admission of love, though, part of her swiftly answered; part of her acknowledged that, of all unexpected and unwanted occurrences, she just might love him, too.
She dropped the washcloth; her mind reeling with shock, she watched the linen slowly submerge beneath the cloudy water. How had she allowed herself to fall in love? When had she become so weak?
“You seem surprised,” Braden said with a wry laugh.
Veronique swallowed, grappling with emotions she couldn’t control. Hellfire. She didn’t like being unsettled. “I—”
“We are well matched, you and I. Together, we will be truly formidable. We will be the subject of many chansons sung with both awe and fear throughout England.”
What a tantalizing prospect. However—
“Do you not want to stand at my side, Love? To be my wife?”
His wife. He wanted to marry her. Suspicion crowded into her stunned mind. Did he really care for her, or did he want to wed her in order to have more influence over Tye? Braden was a clever, cunning man who craved power. She might just be part of a devious plot—
He sighed. Clenching both hands on the side of the tub, he rose, bringing his splendid, aroused nakedness into her full view.
Unable to tear her gaze from his impressive manhood so close to her face, she moistened her lips. “Braden—”
“My love is true, Veronique.” He reached down into the tub, hauled her to her feet, and lifted her into his arms.
Water dripped from her wet hair and body onto the planks. In the cool chamber air, goose bumps rose on her flesh. “What are you—?”
“I will prove that I love you,” he growled against her mouth. “Over and over and over again, until you agree to marry me.”
A lusty cackle broke from her. “You can try.”
“Oh, I will.” He strode to the bed, dropped her onto the mattress, and crawled on top of her, parting her legs with his knees.
Her hair a tangled, sopping mass beneath her on the sheets, she squinted up at him. “You are far too brazen. I do not love you. I will never—”
“Never?” His face taut with desire, he plunged into her, then stopped, holding perfectly still, making her gasp, squirm, and moan in frustration. As she cursed and dug her fingernails into his bulging arms, his lips drew back in a rough laugh. “You should know better than to challenge me. I aim to win.”
Chapter Fifteen
Looking out her window at the cloudless afternoon sky, Claire startled when brisk raps sounded on her chamber door. She hesitated, her fingers curling on the stone window sill, while she decided whether or not to acknowledge the knocks. Tye was likely outside her door, and she was too tired after a mostly sleepless night for another confrontation with him. Moreover, she still didn’t understand how he made her feel the way she did: unsettled; hot and prickly all over; and eager for another kiss. ’Twas utterly shameful that she should feel such things—
Her chamber door opened.
Claire gasped, for she hadn’t yet answered. Thankfully she hadn’t been in the midst of changing garments or writing in the journal. Turning from the window, she clasped her hands together in front of her.
Tye strode through the doorway, his mantle drifting at the calves of his knee-high boots that bore wet stains. His hair, tied back as usual with a thin strip of leather, appeare
d windblown.
She tried to cling to her outrage, but the sight of him so undeniably handsome brought a rush of admiration weaving through her. He didn’t look like a lowborn thug; he resembled a lord who ruled a vast, prosperous estate. A man who, as he’d told her before, took what he wanted and did as he pleased. That obviously included walking without permission into ladies’ private chambers.
“Good afternoon, milady.”
Even his voice affected her. She quivered inside, as if she were a harp string that he’d plucked with his fingers. “Good afternoon,” she said, her tone cool yet polite.
“You were enjoying the sun, I see. ’Tis warmer outside than earlier today.”
“Good.” That meant the snow would melt and de Lanceau would be able to move in his army and oust Tye and his mercenaries. Once again, she’d have her freedoms and at last, she’d be able to travel to her aunt’s and start her new life.
“You seem pleased,” Tye noted.
Claire managed a careless shrug; she certainly wasn’t going to share her thoughts with him. “I do not like the cold.”
“Nor do I, truth be told. I much prefer the milder spring days. When the trees are in blossom and the fields are green again, the days somehow hold so much more—”
“Promise,” she finished for him.
“Exactly.”
They both smiled. A companionable silence settled.
Mercy, but she shouldn’t feel at ease around him. They might both enjoy the beauty of spring, but she was his prisoner. She drew upon the outrage that had simmered within her moments ago and said, “I am guessing you have a reason for walking into my chamber without waiting for my permission to enter? A reason that has naught to do with the weather?”
The mirth faded from his eyes. “You guess correctly. Did I offend you, entering as I did?”
“’Tis an accepted courtesy that a man waits for a lady’s acknowledgment before entering her private room. She might be dressing, or bathing, or…otherwise indisposed.”
“What if you did not hear me for some reason, such as a loud noise outside? Should I have continued to knock? Or should I have realized that you were indisposed?”
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