Claire . She’d become a far greater problem than anticipated.
A problem that must be eliminated before the pivotal battle began.
The potion hadn’t sated Tye’s lust for her. Claire still had a firm hold on him. Had she possibly even won his love?
Opening her eyes to the brutal breeze, Veronique grinned, a merciless curving of her lips. Before she met with Tye in the morning, she’d deal with Claire.
Once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bound to the chair in Tye’s solar, Claire waited. Her cheek hurt, and she wished she could gently rub it to ease the discomfort, but her bound wrists, lashed to the rear sides of the chair, prevented such movement. Her ankles were also tied together and secured to the chair.
While her body was forced to remain still, her mind raced, taunting her with imaginings of what would happen once Tye strode in. Memories tormented her too, of last night in this very room, when they’d lain in each other’s arms. Those precious recollections pained her far more than she’d ever believed possible.
If only she and Tye weren’t enemies.
If only circumstances were different.
If only.
It seemed an eternity ago that Tye had turned his back on her, and she’d been brought to the solar. Mayhap his rage had cooled somewhat since then. Or, it might have grown into a violent tempest ready to be unleashed.
Claire shivered despite the heat rising off the fire to her right. The mercenaries had turned the chair so that it faced the door, making it easier for them to look in and ensure she was where they’d left her. They’d tied her tightly, and the rough ropes cut into her flesh, most of all at her wrists.
Wincing, she wiggled her hands and feet as best she could, trying to ward off the numbness settling in her fingers and toes. Patch, watching her from his box by the hearth, got to his feet, stretched lazily, and lay down again, his eyes drifting closed.
What she would give to be able to stand up and stretch like Patch had just done.
Voices reached her through the closed solar doors. She tensed as the right panel opened, and Tye walked in.
His face was a carefully controlled mask. So very different from the way he’d appeared last night, with tenderness softening his eyes and his mouth quick to form a grin. Sadness swept through her, for last eve, she’d thought him the most charming man she’d ever met. Now, he might as well be a stranger.
Tye pushed the door closed behind him. Hands on his hips, he studied her for a long, strained moment before he strode to the table where her journals and letters were still stacked.
Should she speak first? Would that help, or only make matters worse? If only she knew.
He took an object out of his saddlebag, lying at the end of the table, and faced her.
“What happened earlier,” she said, her words rushing out.
He raised a hand, silencing her, while he crossed to stand in front of her. His unique scent, of frosty winter air, leather, and soap made her insides twist with longing and regret. She stared blindly at his hands—what was he holding?—even as she heard the pop of a cork stopper being released and inhaled the brisk scent of herbs.
Tye’s gaze settled on her cheek.
“The pot…holds ointment?” An idiotic question. Yet, she couldn’t imagine he’d want to help her in any way, not after what she’d done.
“Aye, ’tis ointment. ’Twill help bring down the swelling.” He dipped his finger into the pot, then brushed the greenish unguent over her cheek, his touch far kinder than she’d expected.
“T-thank you.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He applied more of the pungent smelling ointment and then stepped back to set the pot on the table. As he moved, his tunic stretched over his broad shoulders, outlining bunching muscles beneath, and yearning spiraled through her. Fighting the unwelcome desire, she curled her fingers against the back of the chair.
“I know you are angry with me,” she said.
Tye faced her, tension in his posture, as though he prepared to battle an armed opponent. “I am.”
“You must understand—”
“I do understand your reasons.”
“As I said in the hall, I am entirely to blame for what happened.” His brows rose as she spoke, but she forged on. “I organized the deception. ’Tis no one else’s fault. Only mine.”
Eyes narrowed, he studied her and then nodded.
“If I am to be punished—”
A ragged sigh broke from him. He claimed the distance between them so fast, she gasped and lurched back against the chair, causing the joints to squeak. There was no escaping him, though. He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb hovering over her injury. “This,” he said tightly, “proves we are far beyond mere punishment.”
Oh, the feel of his skin against hers! She quivered inside, but fought the forbidden hunger. She needed to understand his words.
“W-what…?”
“We must get you out of this keep, away from my mother. ’Tis the only choice now.”
Confusion muddled her thoughts. “But—”
“Listen.” He let go of her face and set his hands on the chair’s carved arm rests. “I was angry about today, aye. However, you are a brave and intelligent woman. I expected you to try and escape.”
“You did?”
“What I did not ever expect…” He hung his head, his silky hair close to her mouth. Sighing, he raised his head to meet her wary stare. “I did not expect to feel as I do…about you.”
His voice had softened, and his words had held a slight tremor. What she’d heard wasn’t anger. Far from it.
Astonishment rippled through her, swiftly followed by shock and an onslaught of other intense feelings that all jumbled together. “Tye—”
“Just… listen !” His growl was akin to a wounded beast, and as his gaze bored into hers, she slowly nodded. “I must say it now, for ’tis not easy, and I…may not have the chance again.” He hesitated, clearly searching for his words. “I…never intended to kill Henry. I did not want to slay anyone that night, only escape.”
A hard lump lodged in her throat. She dreaded what Tye was going to say next, but had no choice but to listen.
“Henry was overpowered and wounded by my mother’s men. When she said she was going to geld him—”
“ Geld him?” Claire choked out.
“Aye. A terrible fate for a young man. To stop my mother, I knocked Henry down to the floor. I hoped he’d be senseless long enough for us to get away. However, he woke. Instead of staying down, where he was safe, he…attacked me.” Tye shook his head. “’Twas a senseless, foolhardy act.”
“Henry was not a fool!”
“He was, Claire. He obviously wanted to be a hero, even though he had no hope of succeeding.”
“De Lanceau praised Henry as a gallant, chivalrous warrior.” Claire’s tone roughened with anguish. “His lordship honored Henry in a special ceremony—”
“My father was nowhere near the dungeon that night. He never saw what happened.”
“Surely, there were other witnesses who gave accounts.”
“The only other guard in the dungeon was killed early on by Braden. While a few other prisoners might have seen what took place, we set them all free that night. Even if some were recaptured, my sire would not trust the accounts of convicted criminals. No matter what they said, my sire would consider me a ruthless murderer.”
“But—”
“My mother was there that eve, and Braden, and the men they had hired to broach the dungeon. They might tell you the truth, but I doubt you or anyone else would believe it.”
Indeed, she wouldn’t. Claire couldn’t bear the thought of facing Veronique again, especially to ask about Henry’s demise.
“Believe me, Henry was a fool.” Tye’s words ground between his teeth. “He threw his life away.”
“He did not! He did his duty, and—”
“If that were me, if I had been betrothed to you… If I had been honored with the love of a woman of such loveliness, grace, and compassion…” Tye paused, and the drumming of her heart rang in her ears. “I would have done anything— anything —to stay alive, so we could be together.”
Tears filled her eyes. She struggled to sustain the rage she’d drawn upon for inner strength, but ’twas becoming more and more difficult.
“When I realized the Henry from your letters was the guard from Branton Keep’s dungeon, I tried to think of how best to tell you about his death. You spoke so highly of him. I did not want to hurt you, even though I…knew I must.”
“The truth is always the wisest path,” she said as if by rote. Lady Brackendale had told her that long ago. Claire had clung to those words for comfort in her darkest moments of despair.
“’Tis what I decided, too. It made me angry, though, having to hurt you,” Tye said. “I cannot forget how Henry selfishly thought only of himself, and not of you.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. She stared into Tye’s eyes, searched his expression for the barest hint of guile, but found none. Indeed, his eyes were damp, as though what he’d just told her had been difficult.
Did she dare to believe him? Could his account of what had happened that night be the truth? It seemed impossible.
He straightened and stepped away, letting his hands fall to his sides.
“How do I know that what you have just told me is true?” she asked quietly.
“I swear it, upon my honor.” His mouth ticked up in a despondent grin. “What little I have.”
***
Her beautiful eyes revealed all: her heart longed to believe him, but her rational mind told her not to heed one word. He’d told her the truth about Henry’s killing, though. At least he’d managed to say that much before he was to lose her forever.
Fighting an overwhelming sense of regret, Tye strode past the chair. Claire’s head turned to the right as she tried to follow his movement, and her shimmering tresses, the lower portion trapped between her back and the chair, gathered at her shoulder. How he yearned to touch her, to slide his fingers into her hair and pull it aside to press a kiss to her sweet-scented skin. He’d wanted to touch her from the moment he’d walked into the solar, but he mustn’t. After his confession about Henry, she’d be more likely to spit in his face than accept his caresses.
Halting directly behind her, he looked down at her hands, tied to either side of the chair. Her fingers clasped the wood. As he stared, they tightened their grip, a sure sign that he was making her uneasy.
He dropped to a crouch and drew the knife from inside his boot.
“W-what are you doing?”
The dagger rasped from its sheath. “I am cutting your bonds.” The sharp knife sliced easily through the ropes and they fell to the floor.
With a groan of relief, Claire drew her hands into her lap and rolled her shoulders, easing knotted muscles.
After sheathing the knife and returning it to his boot, he walked back in front of her and knelt, catching hold of her hands. Turning them to the right and left, he examined the angry red marks encircling her wrists. She’d have unsightly bruises. Had his mother ordered Claire to be bound so tightly? Frowning, he reached behind him for the ointment pot.
“Nay,” Claire said quickly. “Thank you, but I think I will be all right.”
Tye fought disappointment. She didn’t want him touching her again. With a terse nod, he released her hands, letting her fingers fall back into her lap.
He remained on his knees. His conscience told him to move away, but when her gaze locked with his and held it, he couldn’t. Her eyes held him captive, as if he were manacled to the floor.
He could lose his soul in those expressive eyes. Regret welled up inside him, for he could never admit it to her, but he was going to miss her when she was gone.
In the firelight, the ointment on her cheek glistened.
“How does your cheek feel now?” he asked.
“Better than before.”
“I am glad.” If only he could slide his arms around her waist, lean in, and kiss her, prove with his lips and tongue that he was still the man she’d loved so selflessly last night. Knowing he had no right to act on that impulse, he sat back on his heels, giving her some distance. “There is a matter we need to discuss, as soon as you feel able.”
“Not Henry.” Her bosom rose and fell on a ragged breath. “Please. No more. I cannot bear—
“’Tis not about Henry. ’Tis about you.”
Her shoulders lowered in obvious relief. “Go on.”
“We must get you out of Wode. You are no longer safe here. If I could send you away right now , I would. However, ’tis perilous for anyone, above all a young lady, to travel the roads at night.”
“What has happened—?”
“The fact that my mother hit you, when I told her you were not to be harmed… She considers you a threat. I know her. I know exactly what she is capable of if she believes it necessary.”
Claire’s face had paled. Again, he battled with the desire to reach for her, to comfort her.
“Before dawn, I will take you to the cellar. You will get into the hidden passageway and stay there, until the battle with my sire begins. Any day now, he will arrive with his army.”
“But—”
“Run to my sire’s men. They will get you out of the castle walls and keep you safe.”
Claire looked uncertain. Was she going to refuse her chance at freedom? At safety? He wouldn’t allow it.
He drew the sheathed dagger from his boot and pressed it into her hands. “Hide this under your garments. If anyone tries to stop you from escaping, use it.”
“You trust me with a knife?”
“I know you are not foolish enough to try stabbing me.”
The barest smile touched her lips, an acknowledgement of his wry humor. “Thank you. However, I will not leave without Mary.”
“Claire!”
“Lady Brackendale as well. She—”
“She is an old woman. She would never manage the tunnel,” Tye said. “She would only be a hindrance to you.”
“I cannot just leave her!”
“You must. I will do my best to protect her.” Unable to restrain himself any longer, he rose up on his knees and gently set his hands upon both of hers that were clutching the knife. “Please. Mary can go with you, but you must do as I say.”
Claire nodded, finally. A sigh rushed from his lips, before her right hand slid over his, her touch so unexpected, his eyes burned.
“Come with us. Ask to meet with your father. I will help—
“Never,” Tye ground out. He hoped the word conveyed the full extent of his loathing for his sire.
“You just said that you cannot trust your mother,” Claire rushed on. “How can you be sure that all she has told you about your father is true?”
A sickening pang of foreboding rolled through Tye. He fought it down with a curse. “He rejected me.”
“Are you certain?”
“Aye.”
“What if you are wrong? What if—?”
“Enough,” he growled. “We have discussed this already.”
She glared back. “You owe it to yourself to learn the truth.”
“I already know the truth.” Tye laughed bitterly. “I am ba
stard-born. I have lived by my sword. I have slept in filthy stables, killed knights, stolen food so I wouldn’t starve—”
“Stop it.” Her eyes shone with tears.
“I have done far worse things too. I am not a good man, Claire. Far from it.”
“Tye.”
“I am—”
“Compassionate,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “Honorable.”
“God’s teeth!” Shame smothered a momentary flare of astonishment. She was speaking madness. He was not at all the man she was describing. Nowhere near.
“A man who does not see the goodness within him, even though ’tis there.”
Tye shook his head. “Listen to what you are saying!”
“I know exactly what I am saying.” Conviction blazed in her damp eyes. “You have a choice, Tye. The most difficult choice you may ever make, but a choice all the same.”
“Why do I want any other choice than to slay my sire?” he sneered.
Her gaze filled with grudging resignation. Tears trailed down her face. “Mayhap you should consider the answer to that question.”
He yanked his hands free from hers and stood. Anger and confusion churned within him as he stared into the fire. Heat rolled off the blaze, as intense as the inferno seething within him.
Claire rose from the chair and touched his arm. He stiffened, aflame with anguish and the soul-deep need to take her in his arms. “Tye—”
“You can have the bed,” he said. “Get some sleep. I will post additional guards at the door tonight, and I will wake you before dawn.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Lord Delwyn de Lysonne is waiting outside the gatehouse, milord.”
Holding the solar door open a crack, Tye rubbed his neck to relieve a cramp from lying on the floor by the hearth. “ Now ? ’Tis not yet dawn.”
“His horse is drawing a small cart. He said he has a delivery of goods for the castle. He also asked after Lady Sevalliere.”
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