A Knight's Seduction

by Catherine Kean

  Tapping her chin, Veronique studied the chamber again, for there must be something here. She moved down the room, studying the walls for broken mortar, the planks for any loose boards that might conceal a secret cavity beneath. She’d coupled with more than a few lords who kept their riches tucked under the floorboards.

  Reaching the bedside again, she set her hands on her hips. Cursing under her breath, she tugged the bedding back into place then skirted the foot of the bed to pick up the pillows.

  As she stooped, her gaze fell upon the edge of the bed frame. A thin lip ran along the frame’s edge, a wide enough area to form a narrow shelf. Her mouth curved into a knowing smile as she tossed the pillows on the coverlet and moved to the head of the bed. She reached between the bed frame and the wall, and her fingers brushed smooth leather.

  She pulled the object out into the light. ’Twas a book, the first quarter of its pages filled with lines of black ink. The letters were neatly formed and executed with a distinctly feminine flair.

  “Well, now.” Veronique opened to the early pages, the pungent scent of cured parchment rising to her nostrils while she read a few lines:

  Tye broke into my chamber with his head held high, his strides unwavering, not the slightest trace of humility or remorse in his demeanor. He acted as though he had every right to claim Wode, but that cannot be, for this castle rightfully belongs to Lord de Lanceau. How, then, can Tye believe what he does?

  I am cold inside with fear. I am terribly afraid, more so than I have ever been in my life, and not just for myself, but for Lady Brackendale, Mary, and all those I care about.

  A gritty laugh welled in Veronique’s throat. How perfect. Yet, there might be sections that were even more revealing. She fingered pages aside and paused near the middle of the entries.

  I cannot explain the sensations Tye roused within me. When he took me in his arms, kissed me with such skill and boldness, I was caught up in a wild and powerful storm. A great tempest of confusion, longing, and wonder swirled up inside me. I was frightened, and yet, my heart still soars when I think of that moment. I am ashamed of the way I feel, but I need more. Want more.

  “Of course you want more.” Veronique turned to another page. “He has seduced more women than you can possibly imagine.”

  I do not know how Tye really feels about me. Yet, his kiss was both demanding and surprisingly gentle. That confuses me all the more. How can such a bitter, ruthless rogue also be tender, especially toward a woman who is no more to him than a prisoner?

  Forsooth, there are moments when it seems as if the steel around his heart, armor forged of hatred and ambition, falls away. In those moments, I wonder if I see the real Tye, a man who is far more than he seems at first.

  Veronique’s jaw hardened.

  A man with a compassionate soul.

  “Nay. Nay !” Veronique slammed the tome closed. Tye was not compassionate. She’d raised him not to be, because his destiny was to destroy his sire.

  Veronique glared at the journal. She should take it to Tye right now. She’d mock Claire’s words and praise his skills of seduction—with Claire there to witness all. What marvelous fun.

  Veronique turned toward the chamber door. As she did so, another, even more tantalizing idea took shape in her thoughts. She trembled with excitement and the anticipation of a truly evil plan.

  Laughing softly, she tucked the book back behind the bed and then strolled to the door. A few arrangements to make, and then, Claire would no longer be a threat.

  Claire wouldn’t want to see Tye ever again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tye had just pulled open the door to the forebuilding when a shout sounded from the battlements. “Milord!”

  The cry, carrying across the bailey, sounded urgent. Fine hairs prickled at the back of Tye’s neck. An immediate hush fell—as though everyone within earshot had paused to hear what was happening.

  He turned to look up at the wall walk near the gatehouse, where the cry had originated. A mercenary with a crossbow waved his arm high in the air, determined to have Tye’s attention.

  “What is it?” Tye yelled.

  “A rider,” the mercenary called back. “He is approaching the gatehouse.”

  Tye’s gloved hands closed into fists. Had his father learned of Tye’s capture of Wode? He hadn’t expected to face his sire just yet, but ’twas still possible de Lanceau could be arriving with an army in tow…

  Tye ran across the slushy ground and headed for the gatehouse. Braden met Tye halfway.

  “One man?” Tye asked as Braden fell into step beside him.

  “Aye. According to the mercenaries, there are no others following him. There are no armies in sight, either, from any direction.”

  Tye frowned. “He could be a messenger, then. Mayhap he was sent by my sire.”

  “Or he could have no connection to your father at all.”

  “We must find out the man’s purpose here, above all, if he is a spy.”

  “What are your orders?” Braden asked.

  “Tell him what we arranged previously: that Lady Brackendale is ill and that there is a deadly sickness running through the castle. This means no one is allowed in or out.”

  Braden nodded and veered toward the outer stairs up to the battlements.

  “Wait,” Tye called.

  The older warrior hesitated and glanced back.

  “I will question the man myself.”

  Wariness crept into Braden’s expression. “Is that wise? If the rider was hired by your father to confirm you are here—”

  “You will be close by, to signal the mercenaries to wound him. We will take him prisoner.”

  A ruthless smile curved Braden’s mouth. “Agreed.”

  Shoving strands of windblown hair from his face, Tye headed to the shadows of the gatehouse, his gaze on the rider now visible through the wood and iron slats of the portcullis. Tye stood watching as the young man with shoulder-length, light brown hair neared and halted his mount on the bank opposite, where the drawbridge, when lowered, would rest upon the ground.

  Lather clung to the gray horse’s coat, indicating the rider had traveled some distance. Tye’s jaw hardened. If his father had sent this lackey, he would have ordered him to reach Wode as soon as possible.

  “Good day,” the man called up to the men on the battlements. Then, clearly aware of Tye, his attention shifted to the portcullis. He squinted as though fighting the afternoon sunlight to try and better see who stood in the darkness behind the barrier.

  “Good day,” Tye called back. The man’s shoulders were broad beneath his brown wool cloak. He wore a chain mail hauberk under his outer garment and a sword belted at his waist. He could be a knight, although he didn’t appear to be wearing spurs.

  “All is well?” the rider asked. The horse snorted and sidestepped several paces, obviously sensing his master’s unease. “’Tis not usual to find the drawbridge up.”

  “You visit often, then?” Tye asked, deliberately avoiding a direct answer to the man’s query.

  “Often enough that I should not be asked such a question.” The rider’s frown deepened. “Who are you? I do not recognize your voice.”

  “I am new,” Tye said easily. “I was hired from the village, along with a number of others, when Lord de Lanceau ordered his men-at-arms from Wode to ride with him, not several days ago.”

  The young man considered the reply and then nodded.

  “You will forgive me,” Tye added, “if I do not know who you are, or why you are here.”

  “My name is Delwyn,” the rider said. “Delwyn de Lysonne. I am here for Lady Claire Sevalliere.”

  Claire . An unpleasant tightness
clenched Tye’s gut. She’d said her betrothed was dead, killed months ago. Was this lad an eager suitor, hoping to win her love? Hoping to claim her for his wife? He appeared of the right social rank, the right age, for that to be so. “What do you want with Claire?”

  Tye’s words emerged as a growl, and Delwyn leaned back in his saddle, clearly surprised by the vehemence. “I have a letter for her, from her sister, Johanna. Were you not told to expect letters to be delivered?”

  “Nay.”

  “He is lying,” Braden muttered, walking up behind Tye.

  Tye eyed the older warrior. “Claire does have a sister who sends letters. I have seen them myself.” Read a few of them, too .

  Braden shrugged. “Let him talk a little longer, then.” He looked impatient, though, to give the order to have the man injured.

  Returning his attention to the rider, Tye said, “The letter is your only purpose for visiting?”

  “What other reason would there be?”

  Braden hissed a breath.

  What other reason, indeed, you bastard .

  “Forgive me yet again,” Tye said, forcing calmness into his voice. The rage had risen so easily, but this was not a moment to make reckless mistakes. “I do not mean to offend, but we received word of cutthroats and thieves preying on folk within several leagues of Wode. We were ordered to be extra cautious of visitors at the gates.”

  “’Tis wise to be wary, especially in these uncertain times,” Delwyn said. “Yet, even if I was a cutthroat or a thief—and I am not—I am one man, hardly a threat. If you have doubts about my honorable character, Claire will vouch for me.”

  “There is also another matter.” ’Twas time to be rid of this annoying lout. “Sickness has swept through Wode. Lady Brackendale and many others are ill, and as of yet, ’tis not known how the illness is spread.”

  The young man’s face paled. “Claire? Is she—?”

  “She is well,” Tye said. “Yet, until the sickness has run its course or a cure is found, no one is allowed in or out of the castle.”

  “I see. But—”

  “Those are my orders.”

  Concern flickered across Delwyn’s features. He adjusted his grip on his horse’s reins, his gloved hands opening and closing in a gesture of frustration. “What can I do to help? Do you need food? Healing herbs? I can ask my lord—”

  “There is naught to be done for now,” Tye said. “We have all we need.”

  “I will pray for a swift recovery for all who are ill, as well as a cure to be quickly found.”

  A hard smile touched Tye’s mouth. “I thank you. Now, if you will kindly allow us to return to—”

  “The letter,” Delwyn said. Relaxing his hold on his horse’s reins, he drew open his cloak and pulled a rolled missive from his belt. A yellow wax seal gleamed against the whitish parchment.

  “Refuse it,” Braden ground out.

  “’Twill make him even more suspicious,” Tye answered quietly. “Also, there might be information in that letter, word on de Lanceau’s whereabouts that we would be wise to know.”

  “Mayhap.” Braden scowled. “But—”

  “Tell the men to lower the drawbridge.”

  “ Tye .”

  “Do it.” Tye held the older man’s glare. “He will hand the letter to me through the portcullis. Then, he will leave.”

  Swearing under his breath, Braden strode away to deliver the order.

  Stepping forward, Tye set his gloved hand on a horizontal slat of the portcullis and met Delwyn’s stare. “I will take the missive for Claire. The drawbridge is being lowered now, so you can ride across and hand me the letter. The portcullis will remain in place.”

  “Agreed.” Relief softened Delwyn’s features.

  With the squeak and groan of iron workings, the drawbridge lowered over the moat. A gritty thud echoed, the sound of the platform settling on the snow-covered dirt.

  The hooves of Delwyn’s mount clattered on the planks as he rode the horse forward. He halted next to the portcullis. Leaning down, he pushed the missive through the slats. The parchment rasped against the barrier, and then it was through and in Tye’s hand.

  He met Delwyn’s gaze, a silent confirmation that their exchange was complete. The young man nodded. Then his eyes narrowed, and he studied Tye’s face before he eased away and straightened in his saddle.

  “Give my regards to Claire,” Delwyn said. “Tell her we will see her soon.”

  ***

  Tye waited until Delwyn had ridden halfway down the road that led to and from Wode. Tapping the still-sealed missive against his open palm, and convinced the lad was well out of earshot, Tye turned to Braden, still standing in the shadows. “I want you to follow him for a day or two.”

  A sly grin widened Braden’s mouth. “I will be glad to.”

  “I want to know where he goes next, what he does, whom he meets. We need to know for certain if he is reporting back to my sire.”

  “I will saddle my horse and be on my way.”

  “Also, make some discreet inquiries in the local villages. Find out what you can about my father’s whereabouts. Beware, though. If my sire knows that you helped me and my mother escape imprisonment last summer, you will be a wanted man.”

  Braden snorted and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I have eluded him so far. Moreover, I can fight better than most knights. I am not worried.”

  “Very well. Report back to me as soon as you have news.”

  “Agreed.” The older man’s expression turned smug. “Truth be told, I am glad of a reason to quit the keep for a while.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I gave your mother something to think about this morning. My being away…” Determination and mischief gleamed in Braden’s eyes. “With luck, my absence will encourage her to give me an answer.”

  “Answer?” Judging by the red bite marks and scratches on Braden’s neck, Tye almost didn’t want to know the nature of what had been discussed. If it concerned the plans for Wode in any way, though, he wanted to know all of the details.

  Braden merely grinned and strode for the stables.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three brisk raps on her chamber door brought Claire straightening up from her linen chest, where she’d been searching for a thicker chemise to wear to bed. Night had fallen, and the breeze stealing in around the closed shutters promised a heavy frost overnight.

  After dining with Mary in the hall earlier, she’d been escorted back to her chamber where she’d spent the rest of the afternoon, torn between moments of utter boredom and terrible worry. After writing another entry in her journal, and finishing the wine left in her chamber, she’d decided to go to bed. A good night’s sleep—if her thoughts would unravel enough to let her slumber—would do wonders for steadying her nerves. With luck, the more-than-usual amount of wine she’d imbibed would help her rest, too.

  With the knock on the door, though, her plans for this evening might change. Mayhap she would be taken to Lady Brackendale’s room again?

  Not moving from the linen chest, Claire watched the door. She knew Tye stood outside, because she’d recognized his voice when he’d addressed the guards.

  She waited for the door to swing open, for Tye to stride in with his usual swaggered arrogance.

  The door didn’t budge.

  How curious. Last time, he hadn’t waited for her acknowledgement before entering; he’d just done as he liked. Had Tye actually heeded what she’d told him about noble courtesy? What an astonishing development.

  “Come in,” she said.

  The panel immediately swung inward, and Tye strode into her room. He wore a midnigh
t blue wool tunic that draped to his knees, black hose, and black leather boots. With his hair tied back into a sleek queue, the sensual angles of his cheekbones were even more pronounced.

  Holy Mother Mary, but he was magnificent. He stole her breath.

  She was suddenly unsteady on her feet. With a strangled gasp, she pressed her right hand against her breastbone, where her pulse throbbed in loud beats.

  “Did I frighten you, Kitten? You explained before that ’twas proper for a man to knock—”

  “I did, and you did exactly the right thing. Thank you.” As his grin broadened with pleasure, she wished she hadn’t drunk so much wine. It did not help matters that she felt slightly giddy. “You did not frighten me. I was merely…catching my breath.”

  “I see.” He studied the open linen chest. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Aye.” She bent, reached under a pile of silk gowns, and drew a chemise from the chest. The lid dropped back into place with a resounding bang .

  “Good. Then you are free to come with me.”

  “W-why?” She hadn’t meant to reply so quickly, or sound so unsettled. There was no advantage in revealing that he intimidated her, not just with his demands, but with his raw sensuality that still made breathing more difficult than normal. No doubt the wine warming her innards was to blame for her intense reaction to him, too. If only she’d been more sensible.

  Tye’s lazy grin caused a fluttering sensation in her belly. “I only wish to talk. Surely there is no harm in that?”

  “Not at all.” Talk . She could do that. Of course she could, even if he was the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever met—a rogue who’d kissed her with exquisite skill and implied he wanted more from her.

  Mayhap tonight he will demand more , her conscience whispered. Are you really willing to trust him? Do you dare ?

  She crossed to the bed and dropped the chemise on it, glad her steady hand didn’t reveal her anxiety. Then, she walked over to Tye. He motioned for her to quit the chamber, and she brushed past him and out into the hallway, doing her best to ignore his smoldering stare traveling over her.