A Knight's Seduction

by Catherine Kean

  Claire fought a sudden, unexpected sting of jealousy. How stupid to feel at all jealous. Tye meant naught to her, was naught to her. Once de Lanceau regained control of Wode, she’d never see Tye again.

  “I am glad you enjoyed the walk.” He gestured toward the gate. “Now, you will return to the keep.”

  A protest welled within Claire, for she’d much rather linger in the garden. Making a fuss now, though, might mean she’d be denied more walks. If she was confined to her chamber, there was no chance whatsoever of her finding a way down to the cellars and completing what needed to be done. She couldn’t ruin that chance; Lady Brackendale was depending upon her.

  Claire nodded her assent, took Mary’s arm again, and started for the gate. Tye followed a few steps behind. Claire sensed his gaze upon her back.

  Were you thinking about me undressing one of my lovers? My palms skimming over her gown. My fingers unfastening the ties down the side, one by one. My hands, drawing up her soft linen chemise —

  “Claire?” Mary whispered. “Are you all right?”

  Claire found she’d reached the gate. Her face hot, she lifted the latch and pushed through, pulling Mary along with her. In no way was Claire going to discuss the sinful thoughts taunting her. Certainly not with Tye in earshot.

  The bailey ahead was more crowded than earlier in the day. Servants were hauling buckets of water from the well to take to the kitchens. A group of maidservants scrubbing clothes in steaming wooden tubs looked at Claire and Mary, but swiftly returned their attention to their tasks, as though afraid the mercenaries on guard might think they were not doing their chores.

  A boy hurried from the kitchen doorway. His hair a tangled mess, his expression grim, he lugged a bucket wreathed in steam. He stared straight ahead to where he seemed to be going: the dungeon.

  Mary tugged on Claire’s sleeve. “That boy. ’Tis Witt, Sutton’s grandson.”

  Claire slowed and faced Tye. Clearly not expecting her to stop so suddenly, he almost barreled straight into her, before he halted, frowning.

  “Milord, how is Sutton faring?” Claire asked.

  “Not well. He has a fever.”

  “Oh, the poor man,” Mary whispered.

  “You must help him,” Claire said. “He cannot die.”

  Tye’s eyes narrowed. “He is a prisoner, injured in battle. Some prisoners perish. ’Tis the way of things.”

  Claire sucked in a sharp breath. He sounded so heartless, as though Sutton’s fate was not his concern. From all she’d discovered about Tye, he didn’t seem as cruel in his dealings with the castle folk as his mother seemed to be. “That may be one opinion on the matter,” she said evenly. “However, since you have declared yourself lord of this keep, every man, woman, and child here is now your responsibility, including wounded prisoners.”

  “True, and I have not neglected the captives or my responsibility to Sutton. His wounds are being tended. His wife helps care for him, and Witt is at his bedside every day.”

  “Are you saying no more can be done for Sutton? That he is receiving all of the care that his fever and wounds require?”

  “Claire—”

  “They are fair questions, my lord .”

  Menace sparked in his eyes. “They are also very bold questions, Kitten. Mayhap you need a firm reminder that you, also, are a prisoner. My prisoner.” His gaze slid slowly down the front of her cloak.

  “We should return to our chambers,” Mary said, pulling on Claire’s sleeve again.

  “In a moment.” They were discussing the wellbeing of an honored warrior who had devoted years of his life to defending Wode. Her anxieties must not overrule such an important conversation. “May we see Sutton?”

  “Why?”

  “He is a good man. A friend.”

  Tye’s expression darkened with suspicion.

  “A visit from us might lift his spirits,” Claire insisted. “He may be worried about us. It might help him to see we are all right.”

  “In his fevered state, I doubt he will recognize you. Moreover, do you really wish to see his injuries? They are not pleasant.”

  Ignoring the whining protest of her belly, Claire said, “Let us see him.”

  Tye’s gaze slid from her to a point beyond her shoulder. Someone or something else had claimed his attention.

  “You will not visit Sutton today,” Tye said, summoning a mercenary who was standing nearby. “Take these women to the great hall. They may eat the midday meal there. If they give you any trouble, secure them in their chambers.” His gaze settled again on Claire. “If they give you any trouble, I want to be informed as soon as possible.”

  ***

  Wode’s great hall echoed with the bawdy laughter and loud voices of mercenaries enjoying their meal. Maidservants wove between the tables, delivering jugs of ale and wine along with platters of bread and cheese. Dogs, waiting for stray bits of food, hovered near the benches where the men sat. Half of the tables were occupied, and the mercenary walking behind Claire and Mary ordered them over to a vacant table near the opposite wall. ’Twas a relief, to be separated from the raucous thugs, but the table was a fair distance from any way out of the hall.

  “I will be watching you,” the mercenary said. He cast a warning glare at Claire, then Mary, before heading to a table close by, dropping down on the bench, dragging over a platter of food, and stuffing a slice of bread into his mouth.

  Mary sighed as she settled on the bench opposite Claire. “That walk was far too short.”

  Claire managed a smile. “At least we are getting to see each other.”

  “True.” Mary’s eyes shone. “Now I also know you were kissed. By him , no less.”

  Claire pulled off her gloves, taking her time, for she didn’t want to speak in front of the serving girl who was approaching their table. The girl slid a wooden board of sliced cheese and bread in front of them. A second maidservant set down a jug of wine and two mugs, dipped into a quick curtsy, and then rushed away.

  Her arms resting on the table, Mary leaned forward. “No one else is near enough to hear now. So, what was it like?”

  “Well—”

  “Was it a disgusting, wet, slimy ordeal you forced yourself to endure? Or was it as wonderful as we wrote in our stories?”

  ’Twas even more wonderful than we described. Truth be told, ’twas even better than Henry’s perfect kiss . Claire fought the urge to giggle.

  “Were his lips soft and gentle? Or were they rough with passion, hot with the villainous desire burning through him?”

  Oh, God . “Mary—”

  “If you deny me the details, Claire, I will be most upset.”

  “I was not intending to deny you,” Claire insisted, reaching for a slice of bread and a wedge of cheese.

  “I am glad to hear it.” Mary arched her brows. “Well?”

  Claire bit off some bread and slowly chewed. “His kisses were—”

  “Kiss es . He kissed you more than once, then?”

  Claire finished what was in her mouth. “Aye.”

  “Let me guess. He pinned you against the wall so you were helpless to resist, then ravished your mouth. Once he’d kissed you to within a breath of fainting, he promised more wickedness if you did not bow down to him.”

  A bite of cheese lodged halfway down Claire’s throat. She coughed, choked, and fumbled for the wine jug. With an impatient huff, Mary poured some of the crimson liquid into a mug and pushed it into Claire’s hands.

  Claire downed some of the wine. The strong red made her eyes water.

  “Well?” Mary demanded, biting into a piece of cheese. “Was I right?”

  Blinki
ng hard, Claire cleared the teary blur from her vision. Then, she took another sip. “He was a bit demanding in his attentions,” she said. “However, I cannot say that ravished is quite the right word to describe what he did to my lips.”

  “Abused them?”

  “Nay.”

  “Conquered them?”

  Claire frowned. “Not really.”

  “What then? Wooed them?”

  Shrugging, Claire said, “Wooed is the best word you have suggested so far.”

  Mary blinked like a startled owl. “Goodness.”

  “For a warrior of his ilk, I would say he has shown rather chivalrous restraint.”

  Two loud heartbeats thudded in Claire’s ears, before Mary frowned. “Forgive me, but I find that very hard to believe, especially of a thug who has ruthlessly claimed Wode and who has likely been conquering women as well as castles all of his life.”

  “I, too, find it hard to believe. And yet…” Claire shook her head, pulled some bread off the thick slice in her hand, and put the morsel in her mouth.

  “Aye?”

  Claire swallowed. “At times, I sense he is struggling with himself. ’Tis as if he is waging some kind of private inner war. I sense he…wants more from his life than he currently has, something that is beyond his reach.” Distracted by a burst of raucous laughter from a table of mercenaries, she looked away. “I sound ridiculous.”

  “Not entirely ridiculous.”

  Claire chuckled. “Why, thank you.”

  Mary laughed and poured herself some wine. “From what you have said, it seems as though you believe Tye has a conscience.”

  “Mayhap he does.”

  Mary thoughtfully sipped her drink. “Beware of thinking kindly of him, Claire. He does not feel guilty for capturing this keep and naming himself lord. Nor is he losing any sleep over the good men who were injured in the siege. You saw how he dismissed your questions about Sutton.”

  “True. He does seem convinced he is owed the privilege of being ruler here.” Claire put another bit of bread into her mouth and chewed. “Yet, when he and I are alone—”

  “Alone?” Mary went still, her hand clenching her goblet. “What else have you not told me?”

  “By alone, I mean that he has come to my chamber to speak to me or, as happened this afternoon, to escort me to the gardens. In those moments, for the briefest time, I see a different man than what he is with his mercenaries. Acting as lord, he is commanding, distant, and cold. When he is with me, there is a warmth in his gaze, a lightness in his voice, even a humor in his words that I find charming. I cannot help wondering if that is the true man.”

  “Mother Mary. From your lips, he sounds almost heroic.”

  Shrill whistling and chortling erupted from the farthest table of mercenaries. They were teasing one of the maidservants, pulling on her waist-length braid to try and draw her into the lap of a burly thug, and Claire shuddered. “I would not go so far as to say heroic. Intriguing, for certain.”

  “You are chronicling all of these musings, I trust, in the journal?”

  “I am. I write whenever I know Tye is busy and not likely to walk in on me. ’Tis safest for all of us if he does not know about the journal.”

  “I agree.” Mary’s gaze fell to her hands as she broke apart another chunk of cheese. “I dare not imagine what would happen if Veronique found it.”

  Misgiving crawled through Claire. She rolled her shoulders, forcing the disquiet away. “I refuse to think about that happening. We must focus on other, more urgent matters.”

  Mary nodded solemnly, clearly understanding Claire’s reference to the secret door in the storage room below. Claire stole a glance at the shadowed entrance to the small chamber adjoining the hall, which was used by the servants during feasts and other special occasions to pour out jugs of wine and ale; the doorway to the stairwell leading down to the lower level was in that chamber.

  Challenging growls drew Claire’s attention to two mongrels fighting over a chunk of bread. Before the disagreement worsened, Witt, who was seated at the nearest table, snatched a crust off a platter and tossed the bread to the dogs. The larger animal jumped up and snatched the crust from the air and the mongrels went separate ways to devour their findings.

  His head downcast, Witt returned to his meal. He was seated beside a plump, gray-haired serving woman who put her arm around his shoulder and gave him an affectionate squeeze. Her mouth moved as she spoke close to his ear, likely words of comfort.

  A painful tightness closed around Claire’s heart. She hated to involve Witt in her plan, but he might be the one person who could make it succeed.

  Pretending to smooth a wayward strand of her hair, Mary glanced over her shoulder. She spied Witt and then looked back at Claire. Softly, Mary said, “You are going to ask Witt to help us?”

  “Aye.” Claire selected another piece of cheese. “With luck, he and I can slip away together and go to the storage room.”

  “Wine is often used to cleanse wounds,” Mary said. “If you are questioned at any point, you can say the wine is needed to treat Sutton.”

  “Good thinking.” Claire smiled and then added, “Our plan will not work, however, without you. I need you to provide a distraction.”

  Mary paled. Then, clearly rallying her courage, she nodded. “What kind of distraction?”

  “You are good at fainting.”

  “I will do my best to outdo my faint in your chamber.”

  “Perfect.” Claire studied the noisy table of mercenaries. The men’s teasing interest in the maidservant had become bolder, but she was thwarting them; she swatted away a leering thug who’d tried to kiss her on the mouth. “There are more than enough bawdy and groping men among Tye’s lackeys,” Claire said. “With the right persuasion, you could encourage at least one of them to mistreat you in a manner worthy of a dramatic swoon.”

  Mary’s eyes lit with excitement. Then her face crumpled with concern.

  Claire readied words of encouragement, just in case Mary needed more convincing. Without Mary, the plan was certain to fail. However, before Claire could speak, Veronique strolled out of the forebuilding, pushing back the hood of her cloak to reveal her austere, beautiful features. Her red hair gleamed.

  A ripple of misgiving spread through Claire. She willed herself to stay calm and focused.

  “You look unsettled. Who just entered the hall?” Mary asked.

  “Veronique.” Claire forced a smile. “No need to worry. She cannot know what we were discussing.”

  The older woman paused at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the second level. Her head tilted, and her gaze traveled over the folk at the tables until she found Claire. As their gazes locked, a freezing jolt raced through Claire, a sensation akin to plunging into an ice-covered river.

  A taunting smile curved Veronique’s lips. She lifted her hand, smoothed the front of her cloak, and then started up the stairs, her languid strides suggesting she had no reason to hurry. Claire sensed though that the older woman’s carefree manner was an illusion. Veronique had a very definite place she meant to go and a very deliberate purpose in mind.

  Claire fought a rush of foreboding. Whatever Veronique was going to do, it didn’t bode well for anyone at Wode.

  Especially Claire.

  ***

  Veronique closed the door of Claire’s chamber and leaned back against the panel. The mercenaries outside—ugly, stupid louts—would warn her if Claire was returning to her room. If they failed to tell her… Well, they’d been told what mutilations, inflicted on particular male parts, they would endure.

  Eyes narrowing, Veronique studied the chamber. The room smelled of fresh air mingled with another essence. Not the perf
ume of roses, as she preferred. Not violets or lavender, either. The elusive scent reminded her of honey and was both alluring and sweet—a bit like the annoying young woman herself.

  Afternoon sunshine washed in from the window, the shutters open to let in the day. Light played over the unpainted stone walls, the floorboards coated in fine dust, the bed that had been neatly made, either by Claire’s own hand or the servant who, judging by the blaze in the hearth, had delivered more firewood earlier and also set fresh pitchers of water and wine on the trestle table.

  Veronique walked to the bed. The grass green silk coverlet was embroidered with gold flowers. So pretty. So pathetic for such a costly, sumptuous fabric to be wasted on a bed covering for a woman who wasn’t even the lady of the keep. Her lips curling into a sneer, Veronique dug her fingers into the bedding and yanked, sending the matching pillows flying onto the floor. The honeyed scent rose from the bed sheets, and her mouth flattened in disgust.

  How she longed to draw the dagger hidden inside her sleeve, plunge it into the bed, and slash and destroy. That destruction, though, would be too obvious and too easily blamed upon her.

  What she needed to accomplish now must be done with discretion, for when at last Tye was recognized by the King as the rightful ruler of Wode, Tye’s loyalty would be to her, his parent, as it should be—not the blue-eyed beauty who lived in this chamber.

  “You will never have Tye’s heart, Claire,” Veronique muttered. “I will make very sure of that.”

  Dropping the coverlet, Veronique strode to the linen chest. She threw up the lid and examined the contents. What she sought might be here, or might take more careful searching of the room before she uncovered it. Either way, she would find it—an object that, when presented to Tye, would cause Claire’s utter mortification. What a deliciously satisfying instance that would be, to see Claire brought to her knees by embarrassment.

  Veronique eased aside the layers of clothing, shoes, and other items. She frowned and dropped the lid of the chest. What she sought wasn’t inside. The items were personal, but not of an emotionally-charged nature.