“As it had to be,” she countered.
Tye chuckled, the sound harsh. She was so damned sure of de Lanceau’s honor; naught Tye said would change her opinion. The frustration and bitterness within him could no longer be restrained.
“I do not know why I bothered to share my thoughts with you,” he bit out.
“Why do you say that?”
“I should have known you would take my father’s side.” Tye grabbed his goblet from the table and drained the vessel.
Claire didn’t answer. When he banged down the goblet and looked at her, a rosy flush stained her cheekbones. Her blue eyes glittered.
“Why the glare, Kitten?” he taunted.
“I have tried to help you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Admiration rippled through him, for she hadn’t broken his stare. Had the drink made her so brave? He rather liked when she showed her little claws.
“ You , however, have made it impossible for me to help you,” she continued. “Your hatred is too deeply ingrained, and you are too stubborn to heed anyone but yourself.”
“That surprises you?” Tye smirked. “I should have known you would not understand. You, the cosseted, sheltered, well-bred young lady who has never faced a difficult moment in her entire life.”
Anguish flickered in her eyes, a pain that revealed she’d faced far greater turmoil than he’d imagined.
Regret weighed on his conscience. He hated that he’d caused her pain, even though he had every right to be angry. What, though, had happened to cause her such torment?
As though each action took immense self control, she picked up her sister’s letter, placed her hands on the arms of the chair, and pushed to standing.
When he met her gaze again, all trace of her vulnerability was gone. She stared back with defiance and resolve.
“I do not need to have lived your life, Tye, to empathize with your situation. I, too, have had terrible things happen. I know what ’tis like to live with anguish in my heart.”
“Anguish? Do you really think I care that de Lanceau doesn’t acknowledge me? I hate him. You hear me? Hate him!”
She turned away. “Good night, Tye.”
“Where do you think you are going?” he called as she started for the stairs. How dare she turn her back on him? He was lord here. He would tell her when she could leave the hall.
She didn’t reply, just continued walking toward the stairs, her gown drifting at her ankles. The mercenaries, watching from their table, muttered among themselves. Tye growled low in his throat, his fury and inner turmoil close to choking him. She’d not only disobeyed him, but she’d done so front of his hired men.
“I did not give you permission to leave,” Tye roared.
Not the slightest slowing of her strides.
“You.” He pointed to a mercenary. “Take the lady to her chamber.” He sure as hell didn’t trust himself to do it. Turning to the fire again, he cursed and hurled the goblet into the blaze, where it clanged against the back of the hearth and lay glinting amongst the flames.
Chapter Twenty
Claire struggled to hold back her tears. She held on until the door shut behind the mercenary, and then a sob wrenched from her lips. She set Johanna’s letter on the trestle table to read later. Hugging her arms across her bosom, tears streaming down her face, she walked to the middle of her chamber, her steps unsteady.
Mercy, but her head whirled. Her stomach hurt from the strain of disagreeing with Tye. Her emotions hadn’t been this sharply pitched in many weeks—the last time was when she’d learned of Lord Brackendale’s death—but then again, she didn’t usually drink so much wine, or such strong liqueur.
The intensity of Tye’s hatred… ’Twas frightening and agonizing to see. That he could despise the man who was likely his father to such a soul-deep extent was very, very sad. He loathed his sire because of wrongs committed in the past that might or might not be true, as Tye had only his mother’s word to go by.
Claire shuddered, remembering the gloating grin Veronique had cast her way before heading to the solar. That vile woman had only one interest: herself. Veronique had fed her own grievances against de Lanceau to Tye, year after year, until Tye’s bitterness had become as keen as her own.
Wiping at the wetness stinging her face, Claire turned to the trestle table. She wavered, but steadied herself by grabbing hold of the edge of the table. Once her head had quit reeling so much, she snatched up a linen wash cloth to dry her eyes. A mug containing a greenish-yellow drink sat beside the bowl of water the maid had left for her nightly bathing, and as fresh tears brimmed, Claire smiled. A soothing herbal infusion had often been her nightly ritual before Tye had taken control of the castle. How thoughtful of the maid to have managed to bring her an infusion tonight.
The mug was barely warm against Claire’s fingertips—the drink must have been made a while ago—but she brought it to her lips and sipped. The sweetness of honey swirled over her tongue, the flavor barely concealing the musty taste of the other ingredients. Frowning slightly, she sipped again. ’Twas not her usual infusion of chamomile, honey, and mint. But still, ’twas soothing.
She crossed to the window and opened the shutters. The frigid air soothed her hot face and she leaned into the embrasure while she gazed up at the star-sprinkled sky and drank her infusion. Mayhap the breeze would help to stop her head from spinning. ’Twas odd that she felt so giddy, but the liqueur she’d imbibed must have been more potent than she’d realized.
A man’s voice carried from somewhere out in the night, likely a mercenary talking to one of his friends while patrolling the battlements. Claire’s thoughts drifted to Tye. Was he still in the hall? He’d been angry, and yet, he’d seemed so alone.
How could Tye insist that she didn’t understand his torment? She understood it all too well, having lost her parents, Lord Brackendale, and her beloved Henry. Henry’s death especially had taught her the depths of pain.
With each of Tye’s harsh words about his sire, she’d wept inside for the little boy who’d been so callously rejected, and for the grown man who’d become so embittered. She’d wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around him, and hold him tight.
Foolish thoughts. Perilous thoughts. And yet, even now, she longed to do what she’d imagined.
Her eyes drifted closed, for she longed very , very much to be in his arms. The craving coiled inside her, tantalizing and unrelenting, causing heaviness in her breasts and between her thighs…
Her eyes snapped open. Such feelings were not wise. Not wise at all.
But of all wickedness, she burned for him. She ached to taste his lips upon hers; to feel his broad, hard body pressed against her; to savor his touch upon her bare skin. . .
Her hand trembled as she raised the mug and drank again. She stepped back from the window, readying to close the shutters, and the room careened around her.
Frantic to catch herself before she fell, she grabbed hold of the window ledge. Her pulse was pounding at a frantic pace. Sweat beaded on her brow. Goodness, but she felt odd.
Disquiet raced through her, even as she shivered in a brisk gust of wind. She’d been tipsy before. Granted, only once, but she didn’t recall having felt like this. Nay, the sluggishness of her thoughts, the dizzying heat racing through her, the feverish cravings taunting her… These were unusual.
Her fingers still gripping the ledge, she squinted down at the mug. The infusion . It also had been unusual.
Had she been drugged? Who would have dared to do such a thing, and why?
Anger burgeoned inside her. With careful, uneven steps, she made her way to the door and hammered on the panel.
“Settle down,
” a guard groused from outside.
“I want to speak to Tye,” Claire called back.
“In the morning—”
“ Now !” She hammered on the door again. Thud, thud, thud. “Did you hear me? Now!” Thud, Thud—
“Enough!” The man outside snapped. “Stop that noise.”
“Please,” Claire said. “I have to speak to him. ’Tis important.”
***
Tye sprawled in the chair pulled up to the hearth in the solar, a goblet of red wine dangling from his left hand. With his right hand, he stroked the cat—Patch, he recalled—lying in his lap. Tye had asked servants about the feline and had learned his name from one of the stable hands. Patch dozed, enjoying the attention; his loud purr was akin to the rattle of an old cart wheel.
His touch gentle, Tye shifted his hand to Patch’s head and then slid his palm down the cat’s silken back, being careful not to brush the bandaged leg. It had taken some coaxing, and juicy chunks of chicken Tye had brought from the kitchen, but Patch had granted him a measure of trust tonight. Curling up on Tye, though, had been Patch’s idea. The feline hadn’t been deterred by his wounded leg, and had managed to get comfortable within moments of leaping onto Tye’s lap.
A log in the fire popped loudly, and Patch startled, his eyes flaring wide—a look that, somehow, reminded Tye of Claire. With a steady hand, Tye soothed the feline. Patch’s purring resumed, and his eyes closed again.
If only matters were as simple with Claire.
While he scratched the back of the cat’s head, his fingers sinking into soft fur, Tye’s gaze shifted to the hearth. He vividly remembered how, in the great hall, the fire glow had brushed Claire’s curves and dips; he’d been almost drunk with desire for her.
Drunk. He sipped more wine. Aye, after the liqueur he’d consumed in the hall and what he’d imbibed in the solar, he might be a bit drunk now. However, that didn’t entirely explain the heaviness in his head, the merciless ache in his loins, the way he wanted her with a need that defied all common sense.
He should be angry with her, not lusting after her. She’d turned her back on him, dismissed him as though he were naught but a hot-headed simpleton. And still, he wanted to—
A knock sounded on the solar door. Patch jolted awake.
Scowling, Tye called, “What is it?”
“Lady Sevalliere, milord,” a mercenary called through the door. “She wants to speak with you.”
Annoyance whipped through Tye, and then, smug satisfaction. Had she realized her mistake in departing the hall as she’d done earlier? Mayhap she intended to apologize.
If not, she’d better have a good reason for disturbing him.
Cursing as he straightened and his head spun, he lifted Patch from his lap and set him back in his bed. With a grumpy meow, the feline settled on his blanket.
Tye brushed the creases from his tunic and strode to the door. After shaking his head to try to clear the fog from his mind, he yanked open the door, sent the mercenary back to his post, and headed to Claire’s chamber.
He knocked.
“Enter,” she said, without a moment’s delay.
He stepped inside. Claire stood by the window, one hand holding her hair up off her nape, as though to cool over-heated skin. Her face was pink, lightly misted with sweat, although the room was cold. He had a sudden, fierce yearning to know how the back of her neck tasted. When he pressed his lips to her nape, would her skin be like down? Would her skin taste sweet, like a ripe apple, or slightly salty?
Her expression turned wary, as if she was privy to his unruly thoughts. She dropped her tresses, and they tumbled in a wavy golden mass down her back. Then she squared her shoulders, although she seemed unsteady on her feet.
He pushed the door closed behind him. Whatever she had to say, his men outside didn’t need to hear.
Claire inhaled a shaky breath. Her blue eyes blazed, glittering with accusation. She clearly wasn’t going to apologize to him. Did she mean to continue their disagreement from earlier?
“You wished to speak to me?” he demanded.
“The infusion,” she answered, gesturing to the mug on the trestle table. “Either that or the liqueur we drank earlier.”
She didn’t seem herself. Her mouth wobbled, as though she hovered at the edge of an emotional abyss, about to erupt in a thunderstorm of fury or burst into tears.
“What about the infusion?”
She blotted her forehead with her sleeve. “’Twas…not right.”
“What do you mean? How was it not right?” He strode to the table and picked up the near empty mug of greenish brew.
“It does not usually taste so strongly of honey. I thought, at first, that could just be because of the way the infusion was brewed tonight, but—”
Suspicion scratched at the back of his mind. Fighting to control a fresh surge of rage, he asked quietly, “Who made the infusion for you?”
“I do not know. ’Twas on the table when I returned from the hall. The fire was tended and water left out for my wash, so I assumed the maidservant had left it for me—as she used to do before your conquest. I am certain, though, ’twas not any brew brought by the maidservant. Not the way I feel now.”
Tye raised the mug to his nose and inhaled. There, underneath the pungent tang of mint: the murky essence he’d anticipated. The aphrodisiac his mother kept on hand for when her lovers, including Braden, needed some encouragement.
Damn her! How much had his mother poured into Claire’s drink? The way his own lust raged, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d meddled with the liqueur and the wine in his solar, too.
Claire moved closer. “You do not believe me.” She was near enough now that he caught her milk-and-honey scent. His whole body roused, acutely aware of her nearness and what he longed to do with her.
He set the mug down. Fury over his mother’s actions mingled with his own frustration that he hadn’t foreseen such a nasty ploy. “I do believe you. There is an essence I recognize in the infusion’s scent: a strong aphrodisiac.”
“Aphrodisiac!” Claire gasped and blushed scarlet. “You mean herbs that are meant to…to…”
She looked so appalled, he wanted to laugh. However, ’twas not a situation in which he wanted to find the slightest humor. “Aye.”
Anger lit her eyes. “Who would do such a vile thing? Did you put it in my drink?”
“Of course not!”
“I thought mayhap ’twas why you had summoned me to the hall, so you could have the tainted infusion delivered to my chamber.”
“I had no part in tainting your drink,” he said firmly. “I promise you.”
She pressed her lips together, as though deciding whether or not to believe him. “How long will I feel this way?”
“Once the potion has worn off, likely by morning, you will feel as usual.”
“As usual.” A strangled laugh broke from her. “Naught is as usual here. Not anymore.”
The uncertainty in her voice, combined with a hint of despair, made him long to draw her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Fueled by the desire singing in his veins, the yearning became almost beyond his control. He drew in a slow, calming breath.
“You say you are familiar with the essence,” she said. “How?”
“I know someone who has used it before.”
“You have a good idea, then, who is responsible.”
“I do.”
“Tell me his or her name. I demand—”
“Demand all you like. I have no proof. I will not condemn someone who may have had naught to do with tonight’s deception.” While he doubted one of the servants had taken the aphrodisiac from his moth
er’s belongings, ’twas not impossible. Once he was done here, he’d find his mother. If she was responsible, he’d expect an explanation.
Claire sighed harshly and wiped her flushed face with her hand. “Who would do such a thing to me? For what purpose?” Tears welled along her bottom lashes. “’Tis a vile trick, and I…I…”
Her eyelids fluttered. She wavered on her feet. Tye instinctively caught her elbow, and she sagged against him. His arm wrapped around her, and he inhaled the luscious, tantalizing scent of her.
She looked up at him, her face dangerously close to his. “The way I feel, right now—”
“How do you feel?” he whispered. He ached to kiss her, touch her, have her, no matter the consequences.
“Like my skin is on fire,” she whispered back.
“On fire,” he repeated softly. He knew exactly how she felt. His gaze dropped to the pink fullness of her lips.
“My heart is racing,” she went on.
“Mmm.” His own pulse slammed against his ribs. Could she hear it, where she leaned against him, with her fingers pressed into his tunic?
“My lips…” Shyness and craving touched her expression.
“Your lips,” he coaxed, brushing his fingers down the side of her reddened cheek.
“They long to kiss you.” Before he could say a word, before he could begin to think about the possibilities ahead, she rose on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.
He kissed her back with all the longing and lust tormenting him. She tasted as he remembered: delicious and sweet.
“Claire.” His greedy hands slid from her waist, moving down the sumptuous cloth of her gown until they settled on the rounded curves of her bottom. With a growl, he pulled her hips flush against his, showing her just how much she affected him.
She tensed, but didn’t struggle to break free.
“I do not want to be alone, not feeling like this,” she pleaded. “Tye, I want—”
“Want?” he urged and then slid his tongue against hers. She mimicked the teasing thrusts of his tongue, and his lust spiked to fever pitch.
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