Even in the lord’s chair, though, ’twas a damned drafty view.
He was glad he’d kept his cloak on, for now that the most pressing demands of the day were over, the hall seemed cold. Glancing back at the hearth, he saw the fire was burning well; the maidservants were readying to leave.
The fire in Claire’s chamber would have burned out by now. Had there been one in the room Lady Brackendale now occupied? He couldn’t remember. While he’d be quite happy to let her ladyship freeze her sharp tongue off, he was, regrettably, responsible for her wellbeing.
As the women turned away from the fire, he called to them. “I want the fires tended in the rest of the keep,” he said. “Also, tell the servants in the kitchen I want hot food and drink served as soon as possible.”
“Aye, milord,” the women answered.
They hurried into the stairwell. More servants appeared, carrying linen cloths and steaming buckets of water to clean the trestle tables. They glanced at him and then quickly set to work.
Moments later, his mother descended the stairs from the landing, Braden at her side.
“All is in order?” Tye asked.
“Lady Brackendale is secured in the chamber, as you ordered,” his mother said.
She was gloating. Tye raised his eyebrows, a silent request for further information.
“Her ladyship has a few bruises. Hardly noticeable.” Thrusting a gnarled finger at him, his mother said, “If you stop me from cutting a prisoner one more time, I will wallop you about the head.”
Tye laughed. “You have not walloped me in years.”
Reaching the hall floor, Veronique strolled toward him. “You deserved far more wallops than you got.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” He grinned. “I am too big now for you to bend over your knee.”
“Do not tempt me. I might just surprise you.”
Braden chortled. “Beware, Love. Your son is a grown man. He might just surprise you .”
“He had best not surprise me.”
Tye couldn’t resist a teasing chuckle. “Do you not like surprises, Mother? Or do you not trust what I might do?”
He’d spoken in jest. Still, her gaze bored into him—long enough that disquiet stirred within him, an unwelcome sensation that reminded him of every time he’d failed to meet her expectations.
Her mouth flattened into a hard line, and she unfastened her cloak. “I do not expect surprises from my own flesh and blood. Tye knows his efforts should be spent on more important matters.”
In her crisp tone, he heard a reminder of why they’d captured this castle: to destroy his sire and take control of the de Lanceau empire. ’Twas what they both wanted, what they’d patiently worked toward, and what was easily within their grasp now.
Tye’s mischievous smile faded. His mother was right to chastise him; she, after all, had always fought for what was best for him. She’d protected him, raised him, when his father, if given the chance, would have killed them both. Tye dipped his head to her in a brisk nod, and she smiled coolly.
She slipped off her cloak, tossed it onto the table on the dais and then smoothed her hands over the gown clinging to her slender curves. Braden’s hungry stare skimmed over her, and she smiled at him, so suggestively, Tye had no doubt that they’d soon be finishing what he’d interrupted when he’d stormed into the solar earlier.
“By the way,” his mother said, “Braden and I will be staying in the large chamber in the north tower. The solar, of course, is yours.”
They’d agreed days ago that he’d occupy Wode’s solar, but she obviously wanted to exert some control over the day’s arrangements. “Fine,” he said.
“Good. Now, we must celebrate your victory this day.” Veronique frowned at the table. “No wine? No ale?”
Aware of the toiling servants listening to the conversation, Tye said, “I have ordered food and drink. ’Twill arrive soon.”
Veronique scowled. “The servants owe you their loyalty. If you ordered food and wine, they should have been brought immediately. You cannot ignore this slight. Those working in the kitchen should be hauled out into the bailey and soundly whipped.”
“Mother—”
“I can see to the whippings for you, Tye,” Braden said, sounding eager for a reason to inflict pain. No wonder he and Tye’s mother got along so well.
“I am certain what I ordered will be here shortly.” Tye caught the gaze of one of the servants, who was clever enough to understand the silent command in his stare. She dropped her cloth and hurried into the stairwell.
Veronique watched the woman go and then once again faced Tye. “Before I forget, there is another matter we must discuss.”
“What matter is that?”
“The lady who challenged you.”
“Claire.” Tye’s body responded with a ravenous ache that rekindled the fire in his groin. Soon, he’d go and check on her. He must be sure the servants had tended to the fires, after all.
“Claire, is it? I did not realize you two were so well acquainted.”
His mother always had to pry. Unwilling to divulge more about Claire than he had to, he said, “We are not well acquainted. I barely know her.”
“She is the pretty one you discovered while searching the upstairs chambers?”
He nodded.
“I am surprised you let her get away with such disrespect earlier, especially with all of those servants bearing witness.”
“I could have crushed her at any time, Mother, if I had so wished.”
“Yet, you did not. I am disappointed.”
Disappointed . Tye hated that word coming from her lips when she spoke of him.
Smothering an irritated growl, Tye slowly pushed back in the chair and lowered his feet to the floor. He wouldn’t apologize for the way he’d handled the situation in the hall. His mother might have preferred a gruesome spilling of blood, but bloodshed would not win him respect among the castle folk.
His mother’s laughter pierced his thoughts. “You have no more to say on the matter?”
He deliberately held his mother’s mocking stare. “I will have other opportunities to quell Claire’s boldness, if need be.”
“Mmm. I saw how intently you spoke to her—and how you looked at her.”
“How, exactly, was that?”
“As though you wanted to throw her down on the table, shove up her gown, and take her.”
Exactly right . A roguish grin tilted his lips. “How well you know me.”
“You are my one and only son.” She smiled. “You are also a man of lusty appetites, whether the woman be a maiden, a courtesan, or a widow. I am surprised you did not ravish the lady during your first meeting.”
“In the midst of a takeover? ’Twould have been more than foolish.”
She glanced coyly at Braden, who chuckled, and then back at Tye. “Well, now that the siege is over and this castle is yours, you can do whatever you want with her. Whenever you want. As often as you want.”
On that, they were in agreement. Just thinking of Claire sent a hot shiver rippling through him. “Lady Sevalliere is quite lovely, even if she—”
“—is trouble,” Veronique interrupted. “Lovely or not, whether you lust after her or not, she is a challenge to your rule here. One we would be wise to eliminate.”
Tye was all too aware of the way his mother dealt with people she viewed as problematic. Her dagger had sliced more throats than he could count on two hands, and those were the killings of which he knew. “Mother—”
“She cannot be allowed to oppose you in that way again.”
“I can handle Claire.” He shot his mother a warning glare.
“I have no doubt you can and will handle her. Your clever hands have fondled half the women in England.”
Tye clenched his jaw. He might have needs, but he wasn’t that loose with his affections. He didn’t couple with just any wench. He met a sour glance from the woman scrubbing a nearby table; she doubtless hated the thought of him touching well-bred, innocent Claire. Spurred by a sting of annoyance, he smirked at her. She flushed bright red and scrubbed as though her life depended upon it.
Veronique’s painted lips parted, as if she intended to say more, but a muffled bang carried from the forebuilding. A moment later, the mercenary Tye had been expecting appeared.
At bloody last .
Tye rose, the legs of the chair scraping across the floor.
The man, sporting a purplish bruise on his brow, halted and bowed. Clumps of ice fell from the hem of his cloak.
“The prisoners are taken care of?” Tye asked.
“Aye, milord. I have the list you requested, written by Sutton.”
Tye strode along the back of the table. “You can review the list with me on the way to the dungeon. I wish to check on the prisoners myself.” Ignoring his mother’s outraged cry, he said to her, “I regret having to leave, but I do have duties to attend. I will join you in celebrating our victory as soon as I can.”
With the mercenary close behind, Tye crossed the hall and headed down to the bailey. When he burst through the forebuilding door, he blew out a sharp breath, immensely glad to be out in the fresh air.
As Tye took a quick assessment of the bailey, a dark shape caught his attention: a furry black object squeezed behind a barrel near the stables. He might not have noticed it, but for the feathered fletching of an arrow jutting out from behind the barrel at an odd angle. The object didn’t move, though, and judging by its size and shape, was likely no more than a discarded garment.
“Milord?” the mercenary asked.
“Tell me about the list,” Tye said, motioning to the dungeon. Whatever was behind the barrel would have to wait.
***
Tye is the most disagreeable, irritating, arrogant man I have ever met. I vow he has no knowledge of honor or gallantry—very surprising in this era of chivalry—and have reached such a conclusion not just because he boldly claimed this keep for his own. Truth be told, I am still shocked by the outrageous bargain he proposed in the great hall, one that involved him kissing me, touching me, and even more that I am too mortified to remember and, if I dare to ponder further, will cause me to swoon.
What kind of man believes he has a right to such intimacies, especially with a lady he hardly knows? My thoughts refuse to stop mulling this question, even though I would never yield to such a ridiculous agreement.
I know that kissing is a most wonderful, special intimacy between a man and woman who love each other and who will spend the rest of their lives together. I know exactly how kisses should be from the one Henry and I shared. A kiss simply cannot be enjoyed with a conquering rogue.
If Tye believes he can kiss me, he is very much mistaken. I am, and will always be, devoted to my beloved, departed Henry.
Setting down the quill, Claire read over what she’d written and gave a satisfied nod. She’d covered most of what she’d intended to say. She tucked the quill and ink back into the bag and stowed them back in her linen chest.
Then she set the journal down by the hearth so the ink would fully dry. The fire had burned down to embers, and the mercenaries had taken away the implements so she had no way to stir up the blaze, but hopefully there would still be enough heat. If only she hadn’t wasted so much time deliberating before setting quill to parchment; however, that couldn’t be helped now.
Aware of a chill settling in, Claire strode the length of her chamber, rubbing her arms with her hands. She felt a bit warmer, although the coldness wasn’t just in the air; it was deep inside her, an icy knot of uncertainty as to what would happen to her next.
Tye’s words rumbled again in her mind. If what you are thinking involves my mouth moving upon yours…you would be right.
Choking down a little cry, she spun on her heel, her gown swirling at her ankles, and paced back across her chamber.
I would touch you. . . I would learn every bit of you, every womanly curve, dip, and hollow.
He should not be able to torment her when he was nowhere near. Yet, his words simply would not leave her be.
Worry gnawed its way into Claire’s thoughts. What was happening in the hall now? Was Lady Brackendale all right? And what of Mary?
Claire sighed, for it seemed an eternity since the guards had brought her back to her room, shoved her inside, and locked the door, without any wood for the fire or even something to drink. If only she could speak to Tye, ask him outright his intentions, not just for the folk living at the keep, but for her.
She had no prior experience to guide her with a man such as him: a rogue governed by fierce passions and dark secrets. That he would desire her was both terrifying and—God help her—thrilling.
She scowled at her idiocy. “ Not thrilling. Not, not, not !”
Crouching by the hearth, she inspected the ink. It seemed dry, but she would wait a little longer, just to be sure, before hiding the journal again.
Just as she rose to standing, voices sounded outside her door. Gasping, she snatched up the journal, slammed it closed, and dashed for the bed.
She’d only just tucked the journal away and straightened, when the door opened.
Tye strode through the doorway.
Chapter Eleven
Claire’s pulse jumped as Tye’s gaze fixed on her standing near the bed. Memories of their previous conversation crowded into her mind, and dread wove through her. Had he come to finalize the bargain he’d so brazenly proposed?
Tye walked several steps into her chamber and then halted. His lips formed a thin line, as though he assessed whether she was going to cooperate or challenge him again.
Claire’s legs suddenly felt unsteady. She was not going to collapse in front of him. ’Twould only prove how much he unsettled her, and her pride simply refused to bolster his arrogance. Maintaining eye contact with him, she walked to the hearth and stopped at the edge of the glazed tiles, glad of the heat that began to warm the right side of her skirts.
Turning slightly, Tye beckoned to someone in the corridor. A young girl hurried in, carrying a tray. Claire caught the fragrant scents of mutton stew and freshly baked grain bread as the girl set the food on the trestle table, then waited with her eyes downcast.
“Bring the rest,” Tye said, “as well as more firewood.”
The girl curtsied and dashed out. After nodding to his men on guard outside, Tye shut the door.
He had shut them in together.
Just the two of them.
Claire had never been alone with a man before. Not a flesh and blood one, anyway—as opposed to the gallant heroes who had filled her daydreams and romantic imaginings. She’d always had Mary to chaperone visits with Henry, to avoid any impropriety—not that Claire had expected any from her most honorable suitor—and also thwart any attempts by those who thrived on castle gossip to stir up a scandal.
Tye obviously didn’t care about propriety or the potential to create a scandal that would quickly reach the servants’ ears. Shame tugged at Claire, mocking her for all of the instances she’d been so careful to protect her good name and maidenly virtue. All had been for naught.
Swiftly following that shame, though, was indignation. If she’d had a choice, she wouldn’t have allowed Tye into her room. Yet, she did not have a choice; she was a prisoner. A hostage to be ransomed or used to further his ambitions.
When he did not speak
, just stood watching her, Claire crossed her arms. With luck, by standing with her arms folded, he wouldn’t see how much she was shaking.
Tye’s gaze dropped to her arms, then rose again to her face. His mouth eased into a lop-sided grin.
She could bear the awkward silence no longer. “Why do you smile?”
“Because I want to.”
“ Why did you want to?” Had he noticed her trembling? If so, she was going to have to find a better way to conceal her unease.
Tye shrugged. “Better to smile than to scowl, aye? Or should I be scowling? Were you up to mischief, Kitten, while you were all alone?”
Mischief . That could describe her recent entry in the journal. Surely, though, what she’d written was more aptly described as first-hand information on an important historical event. Therefore, not mischief. “I did naught of consequence,” she answered, proud that her voice didn’t catch and betray her lie. Remembering that he’d found her standing by the bed, she added, “I took the opportunity to rest.”
His brows rose. If she made him suspicious, he might order a search of her chamber. He might find the journal behind her bed.
“How could I get up to mischief?” she said hotly. “You took my letters, as well as the journal that I might have read or written in to help me pass the day.”
An emotion she couldn’t name flickered in his eyes. “So I did.”
“There.” She nodded briskly. “You have the truth.” As the words left her mouth, she cringed inwardly. Why had she said that? She was going to get herself into trouble if she didn’t steer the conversation onto safer ground. As his stare sharpened, she asked, “How is Lady Brackendale? I have been worried about her.”
“She is resting and comfortable.”
“Is she all right? When she was forced from the hall—”
“She is well.”
A sigh of relief broke from Claire. “I am glad. And Mary?”
“In her chamber. She is well, also.” Tye’s smile broadened, revealing his even, white teeth. “However, I expect she is probably fretting that I drugged her stew.”
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