by Speer, Flora
The smile lasted for only a moment, before he resumed his chilly expression. The change left Lilianne longing to see him smile again and to hear him laugh, if laughter was possible for such a man.
“You are not supposed to be here,” he said.
“Indeed? Why not? This is my brother's manor, though you'd never know it from the way Uncle Erland acts. Is he why you are trying to be quiet? Do you not want to alert Uncle Erland?”
“You are one of Erland's nieces?” he asked, ignoring her questions.
“The only one,” she told him.
“How many nephews are there?”
“Just one of those, too,” she said, frowning. “If you don't know as much, then you cannot be well acquainted with the count of Morvan.”
Something in her words or her voice made him look hard at her. Lilianne knew what he was seeing; Uncle Erland had told her often enough. She was too tall, her figure was too round for ladylike delicacy, and she was much too colorful to make any claim to beauty. Lilianne's hair was black and thick and her eyes were almost purple. In Uncle Erland's critical judgment, she looked like a blowzy peasant wench and thus she could never hope to attract a noble husband. According to Uncle Erland, noblemen wanted pale, slender ladies for their wives. A large dowry might have helped, but her father's death had left Lilianne and her brother unexpectedly destitute and completely dependent on their uncle's charity.
“Where is the nephew?” Magnus demanded, the question drawing her full attention back to the man who continued to block her bedroom door.
“I wish I knew,” she said on a sigh.
“Oh?” The disbelief in his voice compelled her to reveal the little she did know of her brother's circumstances.
“Gilbert is fourteen and not in the best of health. Uncle Erland claims the sea air is bad for his lungs, so he sent Gilbert away. He refused to tell me where, or to let me go along.”
“I was told that Erland's kin were all babies and were living elsewhere.” Magnus looked annoyed. Then he shrugged. “At least your brother isn't here at Manoir Sainte Inge. That's something, I suppose, considering all the inaccurate information provided to us.”
“Why are you here?” she asked again. “What do you want?”
“I've come to see Count Erland.”
“You are no friend of his.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Uncle Erland has no friends.” Magnus had mentioned inaccurate information. From what he'd said so far, Lilianne guessed that he didn't actually know Erland personally. Hope flared in her bosom. “Are you one of my uncle’s agents, come to make a report to him?”
“No.”
She wished he'd be more communicative. Still, his self-control and deliberate silences intrigued her, and her heart assured her that she could trust him. In the four years since her father's death she had learned not to trust anyone, but she was about to place her trust in Magnus.
“Amazing,” she murmured.
“What is?” he demanded.
“I’ll strike a bargain with you, Magnus. I will show you to Uncle Erland's private chamber, if you will make him tell you where he has taken Gilbert.”
“I can find Erland without your help.”
“Finding him will require some time. I think you are in a hurry.”
“That's not your concern.”
“No? How long will the drugged men-at-arms sleep?”
He didn't answer. Lilianne had the feeling that he was waiting and listening, perhaps expecting a signal from his cohorts. She was sure he hadn't sneaked into the fortified manor alone. For Gilbert's sake she couldn't afford to let this opportunity pass untested, but she'd have to work quickly, before his companions appeared.
“If you can learn Gilbert's whereabouts,” she said, “I'll give you this.”
She tugged at the ribbon around her neck. Magnus watched silently as she drew the ring that hung on the ribbon from its concealment beneath her gown. She held the ring on her palm, showing it to him.
Still with his sword in his right hand, he came forward to examine it. His left hand was strong and capable, the nails clean and neatly trimmed. His breath was clean, too.
Lilianne searched his face, seeking his reaction to what she was offering. He looked up from the ring and directly into her eyes. She held her breath, transfixed by his intense grey gaze. Deep inside her a previously unsuspected pulse began to flutter.
“This is an amethyst,” he said, “a fine stone worthy of the official ring of an important bishop. It's not a jewel to be owned by a mere pawn.”
“It was my mother's betrothal ring.”
Something in his flinty eyes softened at her words. The grim line of his mouth softened as well. Lilianne’s heart gave a sudden lurch as she wondered why she hadn't immediately noticed how perfectly chiseled his lips were.
“You would give this valuable ring to me, in return for information about your brother?”
“Of course. Gladly. Wouldn't you do the same, to help a brother?”
His mouth opened, then closed firmly. He said nothing, only laid the ring back on her palm and folded her fingers over it. His hand was warm against hers.
She was so concentrated upon Magnus that she was scarcely aware of the sound of footsteps in the corridor until he turned his head to listen.
“Hide this,” Magnus said, thrusting their clasped hands toward the neckline of her dress. “Quickly.”
When she didn't obey fast enough for him, he let go of her hand so he could pull the edge of her dress outward and drop the ribbon under it. His fingers scorched her throat until the ring lay safely against her bosom. Then, raising his sword, he stepped in front of her to face the door just as it burst open. A young man stepped into the room and Magnus lowered the sword, though he did not entirely relax his tense stance.
“I was beginning to worry about you,” the newcomer said to Magnus. Blue eyes brimming with laughter regarded Lilianne. “No wonder you were so quiet.”
“This is Count Erland's niece, Lady Lilianne,” Magnus told him with repressive sternness.
“Sir Braedon, at your service, my lady,” the young man said, bowing low.
“What have you learned?” Magnus snapped at him.
“We can't find Royce's informant,” Braedon said. “He may be among the men who are sleeping off the herbed wine. If you want my opinion, we'll do better without him. Most of the information he sent to Royce about this place has proven worthless. I'm beginning to suspect the man is a double agent.”
“It's possible,” Magnus responded through tight lips. “Where is William?”
“He's below in the hall, trying to subdue a weeping wench who obviously drank none of the wine.”
“Alice!” Lilianne exclaimed, taking a step toward the door. Neither man moved out of her way. “I must go to her,” she protested.
“William won't hurt her,” Braedon assured her, “though she's far from tame. She bit his hand, but he’s trying to treat her as gently as a good knight should.”
“Who is this Alice?” Magnus demanded of Lilianne.
“She’s a postulant from a convent just outside Calais. Uncle Erland brought her here to act as my companion. He said a noblewoman in a household of men requires the presence of another gently born female. Even a noblewoman as ugly as I am.” Lilianne wasn't sure why she bothered to mention that detail, although it was exactly what Uncle Erland had said.
“Damnation,” Magnus muttered, shaking his head. “Lady Lilianne, are there other females here? Or children? We haven't seen any women except you, but that doesn't mean there aren't any living here.”
“Alice and I are the only women at Manoir Sainte Inge, and there are no children at all. The servants are all male. As to why Uncle Erland keeps me here, which I’m sure is your next question, I think it’s so he can watch me. He's afraid I'll discover where he has imprisoned my brother and find a way to rescue poor Gilbert.”
“Ladies held under duress, and an imprisoned boy? I’m
beginning to enjoy the prospect of abducting Count Erland even more than I thought I would,” Braedon said with a grin. “Does anyone have any notion where our elusive quarry can be found?”
“Will you be quiet?” Magnus hissed at him. “You talk too much!”
“You intend to abduct my uncle?” Lilianne asked, looking at Magnus. “How interesting.”
Magnus ceased glaring his disapproval at Braedon and turned to Lilianne. Just looking at her gave him great pleasure, for she was utterly unlike the dainty, fragile little women he met at court, ladies so slender and pale they gave the impression that a mild breeze would easily blow them away.
He didn't think Lilianne was likely to be blown away by the strongest gust of wind. Her height almost matched Magnus's own, and she glowed with life and robust good health. Hair like a thick black cloud tumbled around her face and shoulders, reaching almost to her waist. Lilianne's eyes were an incredible shade of pure violet, a color far richer and deeper than the amethyst that nestled beneath the neckline of her green wool gown, where it rested against the lush curves of her full breasts.
Magnus knew if he touched those remarkable breasts, they'd fit perfectly into his large hands. Male instinct told him that, if he pressed his mouth on hers, Lilianne's lips would open like rose petals, sweetly giving way to his eager tongue. He could imagine her astonished gasp as his tongue first touched hers. Sudden heat surged into his lower body.
Sometimes, Magnus thought ruefully, even the strictest self-discipline wasn't enough to prevent a man from wanting what he ought not to desire.
“Well, Sir Magnus,” Lilianne said, not flinching under his hot gaze, “will you accept the bargain I've offered?”
“What bargain is that?” Braedon asked.
“I will conduct you to Uncle Erland's private room. He’ll open the door to me, which will save you the trouble of breaking it down.”
“You are willing to betray your own kin?” Braedon exclaimed, looking displeased.
“I want to know where he has sent Gilbert,” Lilianne explained. “Magnus will force him to tell me the truth.”
“Are you suggesting that your dear uncle is untrustworthy?” Braedon asked in a mocking way.
“Why do you want to abduct him?” Lilianne responded.
“Enough. We are wasting time.” Magnus grasped Lilianne's elbow. “You may show us where Count Erland's room is. Try no trickery, my lady, for if you do, I'll not hesitate to use my sword on you. And if you are dead, you'll never learn where your precious brother is.”
Lilianne didn't believe the threat. Magnus wasn't the kind of man who would harm a woman. She knew that vital fact about him as surely as she knew her own name.
Erland's private room was on the opposite side of the manor from Lilianne's bedchamber and was reached by an open gallery that looked down on the hall. Glancing over the rail, Lilianne saw men-at-arms sprawled across the trestle tables, some with their heads in their plates, some resting on the wooden planks near overturned wine cups. Several men sat on the floor with their eyes closed, stupefied expressions on their faces, and their backs against the wall.
“How were you able to get sleeping herbs into all the wine?” Lilianne asked.
“Never mind that,” Magnus responded. He looked around suspiciously as they moved from the gallery to a short, dark corridor. “Where is Erland? For your brother's sake, this had better not be a trick.”
“Of course it's not a trick.” Lilianne pulled her arm from Magnus’s grip so she could knock on the only door in the hall. No one answered. She knocked again.
“Do not disturb me,” came an irritated growl from within.
“Uncle Erland,” Lilianne called, “let me in. I need to speak with you.”
“Later,” Erland responded.
“Please,” Lilianne persisted. “It's important.”
“Leave me alone!”
Lilianne knocked harder. “I must speak with you now! “
“Cursed wench! Go away!”
Lilianne sensed the growing impatience of the men who flanked her, standing so they'd be hidden from immediate view when the door opened. Braedon cursed under his breath. Magnus remained quiet, yet Lilianne could feel his tension. With broadsword in hand, he waited with a silent attention that bespoke implacable determination.
Lilianne was certain he’d not depart from Manoir Sainte Inge unless he took Erland with him. Once he held Erland in his power, he'd find out what Lilianne wanted to know about Gilbert. Though he had offered no formal, spoken vow, she was certain he would keep his part of their bargain.
“Shall we break down the door?” Braedon asked softly.
“Let me try once more.” Lilianne took a deep breath, lifted her fist, and banged on the door as hard as she could, not caring if she bruised her hand. Her brother's safety was worth a few bruises.
“Damn you!” The door was wrenched open with such force that it slammed back against the wall. “I told you to leave me alone!”
“Good evening, uncle.” Lilianne tried to step into Erland's room, but he blocked her entry.
“You pestilential female,” Erland snarled at her. “Don't you know better than to interrupt me while I'm working?”
“There is a problem,” Lilianne said, reluctantly stepping closer to him in hope of making him retreat into the room. She should have known better. Erland never retreated, least of all from a woman.
“I expect you to discuss any domestic problems with my steward,” he told her.
“Not your steward, Uncle,” Lilianne said softly. “He is Gilbert's steward. This is still Gilbert's manor.”
Erland's pale blue eyes gleamed with icy fire at the reminder of his true status at Manoir Sainte Inge, and his jutting nose seemed to Lilianne to grow longer as his expression darkened. He was in his mid forties, a little shorter than Lilianne, and his dark hair was streaked with grey. Erland stepped toward her, closing the distance between them until his sleeve brushed against her when he moved his arm in an angry gesture.
Disliking the way he crowded her, Lilianne fell back a pace, which was probably what Erland expected her reaction to be. He could not have expected Magnus to move between him and Lilianne. For a moment, Erland looked bewildered.
“Who the devil are you?” he demanded, recovering from his surprise. Then, raising his voice, “Malbard! Amery! Help!”
“Your men won't come,” Magnus said, lifting his sword so the tip was pointing at Erland's belly. “They are all asleep.”
Erland went very still, regarding the intruders intently. His gaze flicked to Braedon and to Lilianne, then returned to Magnus.
“So, you are using my niece to gain access to me,” Erland said. “What do you want?”
“You.” Magnus pushed forward relentlessly until Erland backed up a single step, and then another step. Suddenly, all three men and Lilianne were inside the room. Braedon closed the door and stood braced against it.
Erland spun on his heel, heading for the unsheathed sword that lay on the large table he used as a desk. Magnus got to the table first and grabbed the sword. Holding a weapon in each hand, he again confronted Erland. Glaring in outrage Erland looked from Magnus to Braedon. Then he faced Lilianne with unconcealed fury.
“You stupid wench! What idiocy have you committed now?”
“They said they needed to speak with you,” Lilianne said. How useful armed men could be; for once she wasn't trembling before her uncle out of fear for Gilbert's sake. “I thought they must be some of your spies, who required instructions,” she added with false innocence.
“Spies?” Erland roared at her. “Spies, indeed! Why would you think such a thing?”
“I am not the fool you imagine me to be,” Lilianne told him.
“No,” Erland replied with a sneer, “you are something worse than a fool. You are a typically witless female, who has convinced herself that she knows what is going on. You know nothing, Lilianne. There is nothing for you to know. These men have gained entrance here by i
ncapacitating my men-at-arms. They will pay for their misdeeds, after which, I assure you, niece, you will pay for leading them to my private chamber.”
“Tell me, Count Erland,” Braedon said, moving away from the door, “exactly what do you intend to do to Lady Lilianne?”
Erland shifted position to watch him. With suspicion clear on his face, his gaze darting from the writing materials on his desk to the tapestry covering one wall, to the two intruders, Erland followed Braedon's seemingly random movements about the room.
Lilianne gave little heed to them. Since the first instant of meeting Magnus, she had regarded his every movement with enthralled fascination. Because she was so intensely aware of him, she had recognized the motion of his eyes and the quick tilt of his chin as signals to Braedon to hold Erland's attention. She saw how Magnus silently stepped behind Erland while her uncle was watching Braedon. For so large a man, Magnus was remarkably agile, rather like a huge cat.
Suddenly, with no warning, Magnus clipped Erland on the back of the head, using the hilt of Erland's own sword. Erland folded up like a jointed doll and crumpled to the floor.
“Oh!” Lilianne gasped, both hands at her mouth. “You've killed him. Now I’ll never learn where Gilbert is. That’s a terrible thing to say, I know, but it’s true. I don’t care about Uncle Erland at all, not after what he has done to us.”
“He's not dead,” Magnus said, throwing down Erland's sword and sheathing his own blade. “He’ll wake up soon. Well done, Braedon.”
“You were deliberately distracting him so Magnus could get close behind him,” Lilianne accused Braedon.
“I was,” Braedon said, grinning at her. “You know it had to be done. He'd never go with us willingly, so we'd waste time fighting him, and possibly injure him. We don't want to hurt Erland; we want him alive and well.”
“Stop your continual chattering and help me,” Magnus ordered. He was kneeling next to Erland, tying the unconscious man's hands behind his back with a leather thong he had pulled from a pouch at his belt. “Come on, Braedon. You said it yourself; we don't have much time. Those men below, and the ones at the gate, will begin to waken soon.”